Stage Fright
by MonacoMac
Summary: Teen life has many complications for poor Bart. The line between love and hate is tested many times, especially when Bob jumps in the line of fire to save the spiky haired bad-boy. Will pesky emotions once again get in the way and hinder his murderous plot? BORT, Warnings: some profanity, violence, sex, Bob/Bart, some Bart/Milhouse, attempted rape OC/Bob, smoking/drinking.
1. Prisoner

**Chapter 1: Prisoner**

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><p><strong>A.N. - I realize BobBart isn't everyone's cup-o'-tea, but for those that are interested then I will try not to disappoint.**

**Warnings: Rated M for a reason. Sex, violence, slash, likely bondage situations... all the good stuff and probably some things that I haven't planned for yet, so if this hasn't discouraged you, then go ahead and read it.**

**Pairings: Primarily Bob/Bart. I can't be sure what others there will be yet, Likely some Bart/Milhouse and Bob/Snake... maybe. I have an idea of where this is going, but only time will tell.**

**Chapter One: Prisoner**

Prison really was hell. It was a fact that Bob had become aware of now more than ever with the putrid stench that pervaded every inch of the place and ensnared the senses until one became almost numb to it. During his four months of incarceration he had been shuffled around from general population, to protective custody, to the SHU and back again, but now that he was housed in a cell with his old mate Snake, at his own request, life at Springfield State Prison had become much more bearable.

He and Snake knew each others routines and when to stay out of each others way, and even though their relationship was often tentative and at times strained, it was easy to coexist alongside Snake since he knew what to expect from him.

The cell they currently called home was fairly small with only the bare necessities. When he'd first arrived, the cell was filthy, the solid brick walls were off-white and permanently stained with years of nicotine, oppression and god knows what other unspeakable substances. He'd actually tried to scrub clean the walls, the whole cell for that matter, until he was quite satisfied with the state of their living quarters, but the irregular stains on the walls were relentless.

It was as if he had to keep himself constantly busy, even if it meant scrubbing the floor to within an inch of it's life or doing countless hours of exercise until his muscles ached and were shaking from exhaustion, anything to defuse the rage that had been building at the thought of the spiky-haired kid responsible for his current incarceration.

The crime in question had received excessive attention from the local press and Bart had been an integral part in securing his fate as he sat up there on the stand as the star witness, recalling the evening in question in exaggerated and completely false, perhaps even imagined detailed. In the time leading up to the crime, he and Bart had actually fallen into a sort of peaceful truce, breaking away from the hate-fueled, adrenaline rushed point of gravity that had always bound them together like binary stars. When the incident had occurred, they'd both been in the wrong place at the wrong time and for Bart it must have felt like a betrayal of the highest caliber, the boy insisting that Bob had placed him there at the scene on purpose.

He could still see Bart's cold eyes from the stand, completely merciless as he testified against him. Then, to add insult to injury, about a week after Bob was convicted, Bart had given a statement to the press. A statement that had completely knocked the wind out of Bob when he had heard it on a nearby TV, prison terminology haphazardly thrown about as if it had no meaning. Bart's venomous words still rang through his thoughts in rapid succession, burning like salt in the wound:

_"He's nothing but chomo scum and I hope they break him in really good."_

_"It's about damn time that punk pays his debt to society."_

_"You can't trust him as far as you can throw him."_

_"Nothing but a Pedo-freak!"_

_"...a sick, twisted sexual fascination for blood..."_

_"His favorite pastime? Tormenting little kids of course. Better keep the younger prisoners far away from him."_

The words had echoed from the TV, permeating throughout the entire general population dorm where he had been housed with roughly 150 other prisoners and when he'd first heard Bart's voice, slightly deeper with age yet still distinctly his, it felt as if the air was no longer sufficient in sustaining him, his lungs burned, his throat tightened at the implications he knew that would follow once word spread throughout the rest of the prison.

Several weeks of torment ensued afterward, always narrowly escaping the grasps of other inmates wanting to get a piece of the so called 'chomo-scum' that liked to torment little kids. Even though he had requested his own cell, the only time he'd actually been granted that request was after he'd been tackled by an inmate that was too dangerous to even be in general pop, yet was there anyway because no one really cares what happens to prisoners anymore; the subject isn't glamorous enough for the media to care about. It had taken one severe stab wound to the shoulder and one to the lower back before the guards grudgingly conceded that it was in his best interest to be taken out of general population.

Sure, he did enjoy tormenting people that got in his way, people that just happened to be little kids at the time and the sight of blood did hold some strange, perverse fascination over him, but Bart had gone too far with the defamation of his already tarnished and probably irreparable character.

Bob sighed tiredly from his bed, laying on his back with one arm dangling limply over the edge. Snake was out at the time, he didn't really care enough to pay attention to where the officers had taken him. Every second that ticked away would hopefully bring him closer to freedom as he awaited news of his appeal.

Bob was reassured by his lawyer that they were gathering enough evidence to clear his name and have him out in no time; however, in prison, 'no time' had seemed to stretch out for ages. He turned his head to the side, eyes heavy with tired boredom as he viewed the makeshift calender he had marked onto the wall. Already four months. Four months he'd been in there rotting away while the rest of the world dared to continue on.

He slowly sat up and stretched his stiff arms out over his head for a moment before hopping down from his bunk. His eyes drifted to the right of the calender, to the blood-drawn mural of Bart Simpson, disemboweled and riddled with all sorts of other injuries he'd taken artistic license with. He walked up to the bloody mural and grinned darkly at the morose image, tracing one long index finger hauntingly over Bart's face.

That face. His only weakness. His kryptonite. Bob frowned at the thought. Distance had an emboldening affect on him and his resolve to carry through with his more dark, morbid fantasies. Oh how carefree they had been back then when the thrill of the chase was just enough. Bart brought out such a sadistic streak in him like no one else had and it was even stronger than the urge to kill when killing was just a means to end the torment which he so relished.

He'd spent hours on end imagining the reunion the two of them would have, Bart and he. It was all he could do to survive, imagining it vividly in many different ways and scenarios, all gruesomely pleasurable for himself and painful, of course, for Bart. It was all he could focus on to block out the insanity that had ensnared him within those god-forsaken boundaries of brick and cold steel, double barbed wire and wasteland. As long as he didn't dwell too much on that face, the one that inexplicably brought his world to a grinding halt countless times, he might be able to thoroughly enjoy his own little vendetta that played out in his mind.

The very face that he'd sang of many years ago in such an impromptu performance after sneaking into Bart's room in the dark of night with all sorts of sinister plans pervading his thoughts including but not limited to blood letting and murder. Creeping up to his bed, taping his mouth shut and then... singing. Singing, of all things! Practically serenading him! A gleeful ode to which he sang so freely of blood drinking, lacerating and merrily proclaiming that he'd 'grown accustomed to his face', the boy even joining in and singing along at one point. Looking back on it, it was quite sickening how well their personalities always meshed when Bob's senses weren't inebriated with rage and sadistic intent.

After the performance, he'd ceremoniously crept out through the window like some phantom, the prince of all things dark and morbid, bidding farewell to the object of his obsession and stealing away into the night. It was all quite romantic really and that was part of the problem that fueled his hate even further. It was such a concoction of intense emotions, all bombarding him at once, chaining him to this boy, this young man, this dangerously tempting obsession of his and it was proving to be inescapable and absolutely suffocating.

The weeks following the broadcast of Bart's television commentary had been the hardest prison time he'd served in his entire life. Bruised, stabbed, beaten, and bloodied, his respect amongst the other prisoners had been tested so many times recently and he could practically feel their respect for him crumbling, his ranks falling to nothing more than the lowest of the low. Thwarting most of the attempts at his life, he thought that he just might make it to the end of his sentence without further incident; however, fortune rarely ever was so generous.

He traced a finger over the image of Bart on the wall again, almost gently this time, completely lost in thought and unaware of the clink of metal as someone entered the cell. It was only when he saw that the shadow looming over him looked nothing like Snake that instinct finally kicked in. He got a quick look at the intruder before being slammed forcefully into the wall and he vaguely recognized the man known only as Anvil. A man whose past with Bob was full of strife and mutual hatred. Anvil was tall and muscular, his leathery tanned, battle-warn skin riddled with scars and tattoos, head clean-shaven.

Heavy fingers pressed into his skin for which there would be bruises later, but that was the least of his concern at the moment. How his cell door came to be unlocked was a mystery, but it didn't surprise him given the almost laughable security of the prison. He could practically smell the testosterone fueled aggression the man was exuding through his musky, masculine scent. Couldn't the guards hear all of the commotion they were making?

"I... I swear I'll kill you!... umph... unhand me..." Bob grunted, struggling against the vice-like grip. His face was slammed into the wall, red hair wound tightly within the man's grip as he felt hot breath on his neck. The fact that he was able to put up a struggle at all was surprising as his heart pounded with resistance, body compressed up against the wall, forced in on himself with an intense pressure on his lungs. Bob felt one hand working to pull down the bottom of his orange jumpsuit and his blood boiled with anger at the assault. There was no way he was going to allow this to happen; the man would have to kill him first!

"Stop fighting..." Anvil grunted, blurting out several obscenities as Bob struggled against him, gritting his teeth as he tried to free his wrist. "You're just as bad as all the rest. Worthless fucking chomos... all of them."

"I'm innocent..." Bob hissed, his face burning hotly at the remark. Pressing him into the wall with all of his weight. Bob could feel the cold air on his backside as the man worked his trousers lower, the repulsive hardness of his attacker's arousal now pressed firmly against his lower back. His mind sped at light speed, searching for a way out, a point of weakness to which he could escape.

"That's what they all say," the man growled in his deep, raspy voice. Unshed tears burned hotly in Bob's eyes, blurring his vision as they struggled. Every muscle in his body was tense as he remained defiant, refusing to give the intruder the satisfaction of watching him break.

Bob could actually see a guard in the distance from his vantage point as his face was pressed against the wall, preventing him from moving. For a brief moment, he caught the guard's eye, watching him. He looked into the man's cold beady eyes, on his face, a strained plea for mercy where it was apparent that none would be given, for it was beyond this particular guard's moral compass to be so generous. A small grin crept onto the guard's face before he looked away and walked out of Bob's line of sight.

That's when he suddenly saw it, the point of weakness. A way out. He willed his body to relax for a moment, as hard as it was to do. He felt fingers tighten in his hair again, his body slammed into the wall with such force he thought he might have broken a rib or two as he groaned with pain and soon he could feel slick, wet fingers prodding at him as the man prepared to desecrate him. Bob let out a well-timed, completely calculated moan, surprising himself at just how lustful and needy he could sound when he wanted to.

Hearing those lustful moans coming from himself, even if they were all an act, were sickening to his ears, yet they proved to be just the distraction he needed to catch his attacker off guard. Bob pulled away and fell to his knees in one swift motion that had gotten him out of the stranger's grip. He quickly dove towards Snake's mattress to where he knew he always kept a shank of some sort right in the torn seam. The lumbering giant was too slow for Bob as he drove the makeshift blade deep into the man's abdomen. Bob's hands were shaking, his eyes wide with disbelief as the guy advanced towards him, surprisingly unfazed as the blood began to stain his orange suit, blade still protruding from his abdomen. Everything had happened so fast that his body was still buzzing as he fell back onto Snake's bunk in shock, his heart racing like a madman. This guy had to be high on PCP or something not to feel that. Suddenly, the cell doors exploded open as guards finally swarmed in on them, apprehending them both and escorting them from the cell.

He could still hear the guy's cursing and yelling all the way down the cell block as they dragged him away. He was vaguely aware of one of the guards pulling his pants back up before he let them lead him away, without resistance, down the hallway. The echo of hundreds of voices yelled out, all blurring into one loud chorus at the excitement, some cheering him on, others yelling obscenities. As his senses came back to him a bit, he was proud that he had stood his ground and survived, showing that he would indeed stand up for himself if anyone else tried that on him again and hopefully making an example of the incident. The other prisoners seeing his attacker being lead away drenched in blood was like a small victory for himself.

All he had on his mind was the thought that Bart had caused all of this, just like always. His was a rage like none other he'd ever experienced before and all he desired in that moment was to see the sight of Bart's blood painting the streets, to fulfill all those morbid fantasies. As torrid and depraved as they were, they were the only thoughts that brought any comfort to him at the moment as he came down from his adrenaline high. The ever pervasive, sadistic need that Bart had always drawn out of him was as strong and persistent as ever. Yes, there reunion upon his release would be sweet.

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><p><strong>A.N. - This fic will probably be mostly from Bart's point of view, but I thought Bob's insight might be needed to start off with. The rest of the fic will jump into Bart's world and show how Bob ended up in prison in the first place (what lead up to it) and what happens when he gets out to get revenge on Bart for that harsh television interview that made prison life almost unbearable for months.<strong>

**I know this is a little confusing and if I had to re-write this, I would have kept the time line in one fluid, continuous stream, but it's too late now since I started writing this fic long ago and only recently decided to continue it. I thought it was a good idea at the time. Hope it's not too confusing.**

**So, onward to the next chapter.**


	2. Unhealthy Obsession

**Chapter Two: Unhealthy Obsession**

***Several months earlier, before Bob's imprisonment. The previous chapter was like a small vignette of what prison life will be like for Bob later on.***

Even well into his high school years, his trusty skateboard was still his transportation of choice since everything in the main part of Springfield was within skating distance anyway and he liked the feel of the wind as it soared by. Nearing the intersection of Oak Grove and Walnut street, Bart clapped the skateboard down onto the sidewalk and prepared to leave before anyone could catch up to him, namely, his loyal best friend Milhouse. Recently, Bart had developed what his friend deemed, an 'unhealthy obsession' as part of his after school activities and rather than worrying over Milhouse's approval, he opted to sneak off quickly before anyone was the wiser. Just as he placed his foot onto the skateboard, a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Bart wait up man!" yelled the whiny voice. It was Milhouse of course. Bart could hear the clatter of rapid footsteps and stopped in his tracks, waiting for his friend to catch up. He knew Milhouse had been waiting all afternoon for class to let out just so they could hang out together and the fact that he was going to try to skip out on him yet again weighed heavy on his conscious. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Milhouse, steadying himself by holding onto Bart's shoulder as he took a moment to catch his breath.

"Finally, I thought Mr. Garcia would never shut up! I'm glad that class is over!" Milhouse spoke breathlessly, letting go of Bart's shoulder after a moment and standing on his own. "So, ready to go glue quarters to the Kwik-E-Mart parking lot?"

"Sorry Milhouse, Homer's still in the hospital so... Mom wants me to hurry on home today," Bart lied, though only partially. His dad really was in the hospital recovering from having his tonsils removed which would normally be an overnight hospital stay, but Milhouse didn't have to know that he'd already been released. He really had somewhere else he wanted to be instead and he didn't really want Milhouse to know about it since he knew the negative reaction the truth would provoke from his bespectacled friend.

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that! How is he doing? Do they know when he'll be released?" Milhouse asked, clearly concerned and perhaps even a bit skeptical.

"In a couple of days hopefully. His throat is still a little sore and he had... complications. Mom really wants me home right after school so we can all go visit him and bring lots of ice cream, so you and I will have to hang out some other time," It wasn't like he hadn't lied to him before, but this time, it felt sort of bad given the frequency in which he blown him off in the past couple of weeks. He was becoming such a good liar, even better than before and it really didn't feel as good as it should; however he figured that what Milhouse didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

"Oh," said Milhouse sadly. Bart rocked his skateboard back and forth beneath his foot a couple of times as an uncomfortable silence passed between them. He was beginning to take silent pity on the dorky, blue haired boy more and more as the days passed. He really wanted to keep Milhouse out of his new after-school activity, especially considering the danger it might potentially put him it. Milhouse continued pouting, completely crestfallen, his head hung low with disappointment. Bart rolled his eyes, amazed at how laudable Mihouse's skills in the art of inducing pity were and denying to himself how it had affected him.

"Mmmmn...!" Bart whined with annoyance, "Don't give me that sad, puppy dog face again. We still have the weekend to do stuff," Bart added in an attempt to instill a little hope back into him. Milhouse seemed to perk up a little at this and looked up at him.

"Ooh, I know! Why don't I go to the hospital with you? I'm kind of bored anyway," Milhouse added hopefully. Bart suddenly began to wonder whether or not Milhouse even had any other friends besides himself as it seemed that all of Milhouse's plans revolved around him. The guy seemed increasingly dependent on him for a social life especially since they'd started high school and his social skills plummeted with all the new classmates from surrounding schools all conglomerated together into the large high school. He quickly searched for a polite way to let him down easily.

"Um... well... They only allow family right now," said Bart, hoping his excuse sounded genuine.

"Oh," Milhouse replied disappointingly. Bart looked away awkwardly for a moment, knowing that Milhouse had a knack for knowing when he was being untruthful just from eye contact alone. He placed his foot firmly on his board and prepared to leave again until Milhouse's words stopped him.

"Hey Bart, you're going the wrong way," Milhouse said. Bart turned around. "You know your house is the other way!" Milhouse continued, pointing in the opposite direction that Bart was headed.

"Uh... so?" Bart shrugged. "Just mind your own business would you?" his words came out a little harsher than he'd meant, but he figured that Milhouse was probably used to it by now.

"You're going Bob-watchin' again aren't you?" Milhouse blurted with conviction, a pained look on his face. Milhouse had known about his little afternoon Bob-watching excursions for the past couple of weeks and he greatly disapproved of it, obviously worried for his friend's safety and probably more than a little jealous and hurt that Bart didn't spend time with him as much as a result. Milhouse closed in on him, staring him in the eye with a stern and completely worried look as he jabbed his finger sharply into Bart's chest.

"You're going insane I tell you! Ever since that freak came back, you've been following him all around town! Don't you think you're just a little too old to be playing detective?" Milhouse yelled. "I can't believe you're obsessed with Bob all over again!" Bart quickly placed a hand over Milhouse's mouth to silence him.

"Quiet! Don't say his name out loud! I've told you to just call him 'you-know-who'!" said Bart in a hushed, surreptitious tone. Milhouse pushed him away violently.

"Bart I think you're really off your rocker this time! This isn't Voldemort we're talking about here!" said Milhouse. His voice was notibly softer as he spoke again. "Don't worry it's safe to say Voldemort's name now ever since the seventh book," he added offhandedly, a slight smirk threatening to break through despite his obvious anger.

"And I thought I was supposed to be the insane one," Bart shook his head, laughing quietly that even during distress, his friend still managed to sneak in some nerdy humor. "Look Milhouse, It's bad enough that Bob is back," Bart paused a moment, looking back up to resume eye contact, "Can you blame me for being just a tiny bit paranoid of it? I'm just being a little extra cautious this time, that's all. You know what they say, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer!'" Bart patted his friend on the shoulder reassuringly, hoping that Milhouse would understand and keep his after school activities a secret.

"Hmph... Lately it seems you've been forgetting that first part," Milhouse muttered dejectedly, averting his eyes to the ground. It took a moment for the meaning to sink in, but when it did, Bart felt even more guilty for neglecting their friendship so often just so he could spy on Bob. Lately he really hadn't been keeping his friends as close as he should.

"I-I'm sorry Milhouse. I just don't think you understand. This is something I feel compelled to do, I can't explain it really... I just..." Bart hesitated, not fully understanding the reasoning behind his actions himself. Whenever Sideshow Bob was involved, his reasoning went straight out the window. "I-I'll... I'll catch up with you later OK?"

"Fine," answered Milhouse, his tone heavily laden with annoyance. "I still say it's dangerous, but there's no way I can stop you."

"I'm sorry Milhouse, I really am... I have to go! Catch you later man!" with that, Bart quickly excused himself and took off on his skateboard without looking back, torn between the commitment to his friend and the gnawing urge to quench his own curiosity and paranoia that awaited him in the park. He could hear Milhouse's voice in the distance as he sped down the street.

"I'm telling you Bart, Bob's forgotten all about you! He has moved on!" Milhouse yelled. His next sentence a tad louder as Bart picked up speed. "It's about time you did too!

The words struck him the wrong way for some reason. Bob could never forget all about him, could he? As much torment and fear the man had caused him over the years, there was no way that Sideshow Bob could simply forget all about that! The thought angered him, knowing that he had invested so much time obsessing over Bob and fearing him, just to have Bob forget all about the years of torture and pure hell he had put him through. Though, he supposed he should be thankful if it were true. If Bob really had moved on, then maybe the both of them could find peace after all and be done with the freakish sort of chemistry/rivalry that they shared.

Bart didn't know much about Bob's time away from Springfield as he had been gone for about two years and everyone seemed to have forgotten about him. Even Bart at times had forgotten him, but not completely. It seemed that the two simply couldn't exist in the same city without getting in each other's way and they had been having conflicts and misadventures right up until the day Bob had moved away. Sometimes they'd worked on the same side, but more often than not, their rivalry had pushed them to opposite sides of the court, fighting each other tooth and nail, existing together in the only way they knew how, which was a complete and utter roller-coaster ride of conflict and contention, tentative friendship followed by betrayal. Yet looking back at their relationship in it's entirety, he had to admit that it had been a thrilling ride.

Bart had been watching Bob relentlessly ever since he'd heard that he was back in town. They hadn't parted on the best of terms and he wasn't about to let Bob have the upper hand this time. From what he'd gathered, Bob had been assigned community service as he'd seen him picking up trash in the park and around town several days a week and he knew Bob wouldn't be doing it out of the kindness of his heart!

He didn't watch Bob every day, but more often than not, he was out there most days, studying the man's every move like a hawk and looking for any sign that Bob might be plotting against him. Sometimes, he felt like his extreme paranoia was enough to drive him mad!

Bart cleared his mind as he sped down the streets; on his board he was king. King of the open road as he sped out of the downtown district, leaving behind the faint stench of smog and pollution that seemed to permeate every pore of the town in his wake. He finally found himself out of the heavy traffic as he began to see less and less buildings and more and more trees lining his view.

He neared the open road, wind whipping through his hair and feeling a sense of freedom and uninhibited abandon. It was a feeling like none other as he whizzed past Troy McClure's mansion and then by Krusty's old cabin, then further past the old mental hospital until finally, the stone gates to the park were within sight.

He slowed his skating the closer he got to the park, carefully scanning the area for the one he was searching for. Cautiously looking for the tell-tale shape of that distinctively red, palmaceae silhouette that still occasionally haunted his nightmares, tormenting his dreams. He wasn't really too terrified of Bob per se, it was more that he was just letting his paranoia, perhaps even his fascination for Bob get the better of him. It was a fascination that could not be explained, sort of like a point of gravity, unforgiving and forever winding their paths to cross.

The few times that they really had formed a sort of a truce, were times that they genuinely seemed to get along really well. The chemistry between them felt like something he had yearned to have his whole life in a way that that his father, nor his friends could provide. With Bob, he no longer had to hide certain intellectual pursuits that his father and the tough kids he hung around with would deem ridiculous and geeky. With Bob, he was allowed to explore more cultured conversation, even in the few times they'd actually spoken civilly to one another, Bob had treated him as almost an equal and not just another troublesome kid.

He knew that striking up a friendship with Bob wasn't in the cards for him and he wasn't even sure if he'd ever want to be friends with him given his track record of trying to murder those he'd grown closest to, but still, there was something intriguing and admirable about the man when he wasn't bent on murder. He brought a little culture to a town where crude humor was the norm and while Bart loved the occasional fart joke just as much as the next guy, hearing the same old stodgy humor did get rather old.

He stopped just outside the stone walls of the park, snapping his board up into the air with a kick and catching it. He crossed under the archway that read, Jebediah Springfield Park and cautiously ducked behind the nearest tree as swiftly as a ninja. He scanned the horizon for that familiar red bush of hair, normally easy to spot amongst the forest of greenery like he had been for the past several days. Satisfied that it was safe to move again, he swiftly darted further into the forest, hiding behind various trees and benches until he neared the lake where he took refuge within the wooden gazebo, making sure that his spiky blond hair didn't reveal his hiding spot.

That's when he finally spotted the man in the distance; his heart suddenly did that familiar, terrified leap in his chest that it did whenever Bob was in close vicinity. Bob was calmly raking leaves and by the looks of it, he had a lot to go before the job was done. Even though Bob was a safe distance away, Bart still felt the chills, almost like waves emanating in the distance between them.

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><p><strong>A. N. - So here we are at chapter two! Want to read more? As always reviews are welcome!<strong>


	3. Of Secrets that Angels Hide

**Chapter Three: Of Secrets that Angels Hide**

Bart continued to watch the tall, slender ex-con as he raked the leaves into a neat pile. He had on an aubergine sweater and a gray scarf artfully draped around his neck and... was he wearing jeans? He couldn't ever remember a time when Bob had worn jeans, the two just didn't seem to go in the same sentence, yet there he was wearing black jeans like they were a second skin. It was an odd enough a thing for him to notice so he pushed those thoughts aside, determined to find out something about the mysterious Sideshow Bob. Just what he was searching for, he wasn't really sure.

A slight breeze had started to pick up and Bart watched on with keen interest as the pile of leaves Bob had labored over so tirelessly began to scatter, just a little at first and then a huge breeze came along, scattering his leaves to all corners of the park. Bob sighed, his posture slouching with frustration. Bart was far enough away that he couldn't be seen as long as he remained inconspicuous enough, but close enough to where he could hear the snarl of irritation from Bob. After taking a moment to gather his composure, Bob resumed what must be an endless cycle of raking. What a hellish way to spend a Thursday afternoon, Bart thought. Then again, he was just as bad, crouching down and hiding in a gazebo, watching his archenemy raking leaves- _raking leaves, _of all things!

Bob had only raked the ground twice more before the wind picked up again as if it were the universe purposefully enacting revenge on him. Bart let out a snorting laughter before he could catch himself, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, cursing under his breath. Bob dropped his rake, his head perked up at the sound. Bart quickly ducked down lower, hoping that his spiky hair was well concealed as Bob was now looking in his direction. He could see him through the cracks in the wood and his heart raced. He was certain that Bob had heard him and was still looking straight in his direction. He could practically feel that piercing gaze on him even though he was certain that he couldn't be seen from Bob's vantage point. He held his breath.

After many intense seconds that seemed to stretch out into infinity, Bob finally look away and Bart sighed, a wave of relief washing over him. When Bob bent down and reached for his rake, his foot got caught in the teeth of the rake and the handle sprang up, smacking him dead center in the face. Despite himself, Bart let out another howl of laughter.

"Dammit!" Bart cursed, a bit louder than he'd meant to.

"Alright, who's there?" Bob asked aloud. Bart gasped, panic once again gripping him. He simply could not let himself be discovered with Bob being as unpredictable as he was. How would he even begin to explain why he'd been watching him when he wasn't completely sure himself. Not anymore anyway, now that the mere sight of the man made his heart race with things that he was sure weren't completely fear and paranoia. Feelings completely unexpected and unwanted, yet they were completely irrelevant since nothing would come of them anyway.

Bob ran a hand through his wild, mussed hair, flicking several leaves from it and shaking his head like a wet dog drying himself. His hair somehow always managed to remarkably spring back into place perfectly and once he seemed satisfied with himself and the fact that raking those leaves was a lost cause, Bob picked up the rake and walked off further into the park.

Bart finally tore his eyes away from Bob's receding form and sat down, leaning his back against the gazebo wall. Maybe Milhouse was right. Maybe he was taking his so called _Bobsession _a little too seriously. How many teen-aged boys sit around hiding in the shadows just to watch their former archenemy doing menial chores like raking leaves when he could be at home playing video games, getting into trouble with his friends, or even going out with one of the girls that had been eying him admiringly all semester like any normal sixteen year old?

Still, there was this nagging, persistent feeling he had, compelling him to follow through with this. To keep following Bob and see where it would lead; he simply couldn't fight the curiosity that made him stand to his feet, eyes searching for the red palm tree in the distance and following him from a safe distance behind.

He quietly observed as Bob returned the rake to the tool shed and headed out of the forest and towards the concrete path. Bart followed, darting behind the occasional tree and keeping him within his line of vision. So far, he'd done nothing suspicious. Bart swallowed nervously as he thought of all the possible reasons Bob had come back. He didn't really know what he was expecting as he watched Bob everyday after school. Car bombs? Petty theft? Attempted murder? Him drawing a map of all the ways to break into the Simpson residence?

Coming to a cross-roads in the path, Bob reached a wooden park bench and sat down, sighing tiredly as he stretched his long legs out in front of him with an almost cat-like grace, crossing one foot over the other.

Bart hid stealthfully behind a nearby tree just a few feet behind Bob's bench, feeling more ridiculous by the second. What was he doing there? Really, what did it accomplish? He'd been watching Bob nearly every day for two weeks whenever he caught a glimpse of him around town and had nearly been caught several times.

Bob reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lit up, a ribbon of smoke rising above him and dispersing with the wind. It must have been a newly acquired habit during his time away from Springfield because Bart didn't really remember ever seeing Bob smoke before then.

He had first started his Bob-watching spree firmly convinced that the man had come back to town to wreak havoc in his life in some way, but now as he thought back to all the times Bob had terrorized him as a kid, Bob always had a reason; there was always this spark of contention between them that reignited the dormant, yet ever persistent flames, reinvigorating the caldera burning just below the surface. That was them. That's how they worked. They were periods of peace followed by conflict. He'd always managed to provoke Bob's fury in some way and even though Bart was only trying to do the right thing, Bob, instead of blaming himself for his own misdeeds like any classic villain from a comic book, always set blame on the one that foiled him.

If that were true, then what they were experiencing was the calm before the storm. Neither could exist in such close proximity without getting in each other's way, that's just the way their universe worked. One way or another, Bart knew he would find himself suddenly thrust into Bob's world soon enough.

Bob brought the cigarette back up to his lips and took a long draw from it, then exhaled, the effect strangely reminding Bart of a fire-breathing dragon blowing out puffs of smoke. Bart instinctively flinched as Bob uncrossed his feet, merely shifting to a more comfortable position. He looked so unassuming, so calm sitting there on the bench, yet there was always an aura of danger that lingered around him, almost tangible as Bart could feel it or maybe imagined he could feel it. Those same waves of kinetic-like energy that permeated the distance between him was a feeling he could never quite describe, but it had always been there and he felt it, even now as he stood only feet away. Somehow, Sideshow Bob still managed to make his skin crawl with fear and excitement at the prospect of that familiar danger, that thrill of the chase that always ensued. Perhaps he even felt a bit special that Bob obsessed over him as much as he did over Bob. In Bob's case, probably even more so in years past.

"Are you going to hide back there all day?" Bob's sudden, silky voice broke all thought processes, his whole body seized with shock at the sound of it. He continued to watch, dumbfounded as Bob hadn't even moved to regard him, all he could see was the man's back as he spoke again.

"You can come out now. I'm not going to do anything to you." God that voice, as infuriating as it was, it had the power to move mountains, to lull anyone into a false sense of security. He couldn't possibly know the power it held. Or could he?

"Bart." he spoke again, calm yet with conviction. Bart felt himself moving on auto-pilot, Bob the snake charmer, Bart himself the snake. He stepped out from behind the tree and leaned against it wordlessly. Bob sighed, exhaling one last breath of smoke before standing, throwing the cigarette to the concrete and outing it with one twist of his shoe, then turning to face him. Bob stared at him as if evaluating him for a moment, that intense stare still as unnerving and as knowing as ever. Bart clenched his teeth and looked up at him confidently, swallowing his own fear.

"Hello Bart," Bob spoke again evenly, smirking at words that hadn't been uttered in years.

"Bob," Bart countered, his voice cordial and remarkably controlled, determined to will away all emotion.

"Is that all the greeting I get? I was almost expecting a shriek of horror followed by you screaming my name," Once it appeared that he had provoked no response, he continued, "They say brevity is the soul of wit, but I believe you may be out of your depth!"

Bart simply stared, his mind still reeling at the fact that he'd been caught so shamefully stalking the man when Bob used to do the same to him, yet Bob had been markedly better at it. It was that, and the knowledge that Bob was probably already steps ahead of him when it came to intellect, that halted his words.

"Ah, no matter. When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain." Bob grinned, averting his eyes to the concrete path with what looked like smug arrogance. Yes, Bob knew exactly the effect he had on people, his voice, his body language, and he played on this strength to the fullest extent. He paused for a moment as if for dramatic effect before looking back up and locking eyes with him again. "I know you've been following me."

"I... I don't..." Bart stuttered.

"No point denying it," Bob took a step closer, hands clasped behind his back giving him a very non-threatening stance as he stepped off the concrete and onto the grass to where Bart leaned against the tree. "The question is why?"

"Why?" Bart mirrored Bob's question for lack of anything better to say, his mind totally blank.

"You haven't been very discreet about it either. Honestly Bart, I would have thought you'd have learned a bit more from me over the years," said Bob, inspecting his fingernails haughtily.

"Why shouldn't I follow you Bob?" asked Bart, regaining a bit more resolve being faced with the man's familiar brand of arrogance. "You've given me more than enough reason to."

"Ah, touche," Bob conceded, "but, every saint has a past and every sinner has a future and I believe, dear Bart, that we have come to the winter of our discontent."

"Is that all you know how to say Bob? Quotes? Unable to think for yourself?" Bart retorted boldly, without wavering and feeling more like his old brazen self and less like a spineless snake that Bob had charmed.

"All that can be said, has already been said. One would be a fool to try and be original especially with so much good material to work with."

Though Bob hadn't really changed much at all, it wasn't as if Bart had anything to fear anymore. Bob didn't seem to have any lingering urge to kill him and they'd had no recent conflict to speak of in years. What was he so nervous about anyway? Certainly he had to remain cautious, but maybe all this scampering around in the shadows and tailing Bob all the time really was a waste of time. After a bit of silence from both parties, Bob stepped forward, the sense of invaded personal space setting off alarms all through his body, yet he stood his ground, feet firmly planted in place. They were roughly a foot apart in distance as well as height and Bart unknowingly held his breath, his eyes growing wide with anticipation and fear.

Bob reached for him, his face stoic, eyes squinted with concentration as he gently skimmed his fingers across Bart's cheek, his face only a couple of inches away now.

"O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side," the ex-con spoke huskily and with all the grace of a well seasoned thespian. The scent of spearmint and smoke lingered on his breath and the fact that he was so close after being gone for years was overwhelming and all too real. This was Bob. In the flesh and not some fleeting memory of his childhood terror. Bob resumed his speech, his voice just as dark and just as deeply baritone as always. "Look at you, like a book laid out before me that I may read. Fear, excitement, admiration, reluctance, irritation, perhaps even anticipation... of what I can't be certain. With your clenched jaw, you try to hide it yet that, in and of itself, is telling," Bob's perceptiveness was alarming and almost like an invasion into the sanctity of his innermost thoughts and Bart jumped back, away from Bob's touch. Bob laughed. "All the more reason that you always made the best prey."

After a second, Bart inhaled deeply, unaware of his irregular breathing until now. Bob's next words came in stark contrast to his previous tone, playfully breaking the tension.

"Well, it was fun dear Bart, but alas I must bid you adieu," Bob tugged at the bottom hem of his sweater, straightening it meticulously, ever the gentleman. "We must do this again really soon, just next time, have the fortitude to face me rather than to hide behind a tree," and with the flick of his scarf, Bob left. Bart stood there, unsure what to make of their confrontation. Bob had seemed cordial for the most part, even a bit cryptic and far too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly what he was doing with that voice of his and whether he was trying to be intimidating or exceedingly sultry, Bart wasn't sure, but he had succeeded in both.

Bart cursed himself for even getting caught in the first place, yet their meeting was still interesting. He didn't know quite what to make of it, but it had been... interesting. And that's putting it lightly. Bart looked around, but Bob was already out of sight. He sighed and started towards home. He was too tired and emotionally spent to deal with Milhouse as he had planned to earlier, so he set course for home, wanting nothing more than to sit down in front of the TV, or with his music and completely zone the world out for a while. He could always phone his insanely codependent friend later.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - So continues the fanfic started long ago. I'm so sorry for the wait, as I always recite like a broken record, but so is life. I hope you enjoyed it anyway and I will try to post sooner from now on since I finished my epically long, "Bloodlust and Synergy fic" This chapter is rather short, but I felt it naturally ended here and I still need time to mull over the events that are to come when Bart gets home and finds a few of Marge's family members have come over for and 'extended stay' at the Simpson residence. Will their presence be like a breath of fresh air or just another thing to complicate Bart's life? Stay tuned to find out.<strong>

**To be continued.**


	4. Bad-boy and the Geek

**Chapter Four: Bad-boy and the Geek**

The next couple of days were pretty dull and uneventful. The doctor had told Homer that the first week after his tonsillectomy was often the worst and he certainly wasn't exaggerating in that regard. Whenever Homer wasn't totally whacked out on pain meds, he was whining and being a complete baby over the pain from his surgery. The whole family tried to keep him well supplied with cold snacks like sherbet and various Squishee slush drinks from the Kwik-E-Mart. By day four, there was a marked improvement, but Bart had the feeling that his dad was going to milk this being sick thing for all its worth.

As Bart lay on his bed having just gotten home from school, he closed his eyes and felt the stress of the day slowly melt away. As his breathing slowed and all of the erroneous clutter of his conscious mind faded, his thoughts wandered back to Bob. It had been four days since their unlikely encounter in the park and he hadn't seen him since. Four whole days since that witty, bordering on condescending exchange of words; words that rolled off his tongue so eloquently as if they were made of fine silk. Four days since he'd held his breath at the mere notion of Bob's touch and nearly melting when those slender fingers actually made contact.

His eyes quickly snapped open at the thought, trying his best to will away the uncomfortably detailed imagery. He could not be thinking that way about Sideshow Bob of all people! It simply had to be another form of the man's trickery, perhaps even the charm that was so ingrained into his personality and upbringing. Bob was a natural charmer and used this gift of his readily and without hesitation. He was forever the pretender and just about anyone could be tricked by a sensual touch or a voice as smooth as caramel regardless of gender. At least, that's what Bart tried to convince himself.

He heard the front door open and slam indicating that his sisters were home. Bart reached down and grabbed the basketball next to his bed, turning the ball in his hands a couple of times and inspecting it out of boredom. He knew Lisa would be going straight to her room to do her homework and the devilish side of him always managed to find a way to interrupt her at least once before she finished and bouncing a ball off of the wall that separated their rooms was an old classic; after all, he really needed a distraction from his previous train of thought. He did have some homework to do, but it could wait and if he didn't finished it tonight, he could always finish it on the bus in the morning or copy off of Milhouse.

He bounced the ball off of the wall a couple more times, one thought in particular creeping back into his mind, struggling to resurface. It was something that Bob had said; some sort of quote that he knew he'd heard before, yet he couldn't quite place the exact words. Something about angels and the secrets that men hide. He didn't know why he'd even bothered to remember it, yet it was annoying that he couldn't remember the quote in it's entirety and he knew, however insignificant and trivial a thing it was, it was going to eat at him and pester him until he finally remembered it. It wasn't long before Lisa came bounding into his room, snatching the ball out of his hand.

"Bart..." Lisa whined. He looked up at her. She was smart; she would probably recognize the words if they were from some famous anecdote which he suspected they were.

"Hey Lis, have you ever heard something like, 'Oh What secrets that men may hide on the... or angels hide-'" Bart squinted his eyes in concentration. Lisa jumped in quickly.

"No, I believe it's, 'O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side.'" Lisa quoted sagely. "Shakespeare huh? I'm impressed Bart. Now, if only the school curriculum wouldn't focus so intensely on Shakespeare's work to the exclusion of the many great writers of-" she then proceeded into her own long-winded diatribe over the abysmal state Springfield's education system.

"-though angel on the outward side." Bart whispered the words, completely tuning her out. He knew he would probably think it over more in depth later, though for now, he was content to just mull the words over in his mind, sort of giving them time to marinate.

"What's going on with you anyway Bart?" Lisa sat at the foot of his bed, holding the basketball in her lap.

"Nothing's going on. I'm just chilling." Bart answered with a shrug. Lisa narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.

"Well, you've been sort of aloof and distracted lately. What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." Bart reassured her, snorting with amusement as if her worries were completely unjustified. "Really."

"Alright... so um..." Lisa paused as if to gather her thoughts, "I haven't seen Milhouse around lately. Are you two having another lover's quarrel?" She teased. Bart's eyes shot open at the mention of Milhouse. Boy, was she ever perceptive.

"No." Bart rolled his eyes. "but... I guess I should call him soon." He was far beyond getting annoyed by all the gay jokes that Lisa and everyone else had been saying about them for years, but what did concern him was that he hadn't called Milhouse in over a week and the two barely talked at school anymore. The worst part was that he really hadn't realized how badly he had been neglecting his best friend until now.

"You know Bart, even though I'm just your sis, you can come to me about anything and even though I'll probably tease you, I'll still be there to lend a sympathetic ear anytime you need me." Lisa patted him on the leg comfortingly. He really did appreciate her concern, but it still always felt odd coming from her, almost if he were drowning in her sisterly love.

"Aw, another Kodak moment. Where's the camera when you need it?" Bart grinned, mocking her sentiment. He always felt the need to make light of it just to push past the awkwardness of the tender, family bonding moment.

"Great. I guess I'll leave you alone now to... brood." and with that, Lisa stood up from the bed and moved towards the door to leave. "Now would you please, just this once, not interrupt me while I'm trying to study?"

"Yeah sure sis. I'll cut you some slack this time." Bart replied innocently. "I've already bothered you at least once today so my quota has been filled." he flashed his signature toothy, devilish grin before he found himself ducking out of the path of the basketball Lisa had thrown at him before she left the room in a huff. He laughed, the familiar bickering between them was always a reliable form of entertainment.

He got up off his bed, left his room and went downstairs, his mind already set on calling Milhouse and mending what he hoped was left of their friendship. Having lost his cell phone weeks ago as punishment for something of which he couldn't even remember, he sat on the couch in the living room and picked up the old mint-green touch tone phone, dialing Milhouse's number.

"Hello?" came his friend's nasal voice on the other end of the line intimidatingly after the first ring, as if he'd been waiting by the phone. The thought tugged even harder on his guilty conscience.

"Hey man! How's my favorite dork doing? Read any good books lately?" Bart said, trying his best to keep his voice optimistically cheerful.

"I'm fine." Milhouse answered rather stiffly and much in the same manner he'd heard his mother say whenever things were definitely _not fine._

"Look, I know we haven't hung out much lately and I haven't called-"

"Yeah I noticed." Milhouse interjected. Bart winced at the harshness in his friend's words. He was happy to hear Milhouse's voice again since it had felt like ages since they had last spoken when in reality it had only been a little less than a week.

"Well... I'm sorry. I've just been..." Bart hesitated, giving Milhouse ample opportunity to come to his own conclusions.

"I do have a life you know. I mean, It's not like I was sitting here waiting by the phone for you to call, because that would be pretty pathetic." said Milhouse. Bart took a deep, steadying breath.

"Like I said, I'm sorry. I really have been distracted lately and-"

"You don't have to apologize Bart. I realize that when someone gets a new love interest, or in your case a new _boyfriend_, that the best friend is the one that always gets the ax." said Milhouse, his voice practically dripping with animosity. "I completely understand."

"What the-?" Bart asked incredulously, Milhouse's words had hit him like a slap in the face."Stop being such a jackass! I'm not giving you the ax and Bob is not my boyfriend!" Bart yelled, the words sounding odd and ridiculous just saying them aloud. Bart spotted his mother in the doorway to the sitting room giving him a funny look, but he dismissed it.

He'd always known his friend to be a little clingy, but this time, his jealously was totally beyond insane, comparable to that of a jealous lover. Milhouse had always freely shown an interest in girls and at times, he had even shown a not quite so discreet interest in other boys, but he only hoped that Milhouse wasn't suddenly developing feelings for him. The thought just seemed too unreal to even entertain, dwelling somewhere in the remote recesses of his mind that he wouldn't even dare to venture.

"Hey Milhouse," Bart asked after an awfully long silence. "Lisa still isn't seeing anyone, why don't you give her a call one of these days?" Bart offered, thinking that it would be a safe way of testing the waters without seeming too prying.

"Oh, so now you're trying to push me off on your sister! How pathetic!" snapped Milhouse.

"But I thought you really liked Lisa! What happened to all that unrequited love jazz that you've been going on about for years?"

"Hey, this conversation is about you and I, as in bros before hoes!" Milhouse exclaimed. Bart clenched his fists in anger, unable to believe the words he'd just heard from his best friend's mouth and if Milhouse's previous comment had come as a slap in the face, this one seemed like a flat out kick below the belt!

"Hey man, that's my sister you're talking about!" he yelled into the phone. "I'm the only one that can make derogatory remarks about her!"

"Well you're the one that called me and I-" but before he could finish, Bart angrily slammed the phone back on the hook with a satisfyingly loud _clack_ that was simply unachievable with a cell phone. The sudden protectiveness he felt for Lisa was something that had occasionally provoked anger from him, but never had he thought that Milhouse would be one to stoop so low. He stood up and was just about to storm out through the back door when his mother stopped him.

"Everything alright honey?" Marge called. He turned back, resting a hand on the door frame and looking into her sympathetic eyes. He really couldn't think of anything to say other than simple platitudes which were usually enough to dissuade her from further questioning.

"Yeah. It's nothing." Bart replied, clenching his teeth with anger before darting out into the backyard to get some fresh air.

- o - o - o -

Monday had once again rolled by and it was just a regular school day for the most part, or it would be if he and Milhouse weren't still shunning each other. A week had past. It had been seven days since their fight, eleven days since his meeting with Bob in the park and a lot had changed in such a brief span of time. Bart found himself spending a lot more time with Nelson, Jimbo, Dolph and Kearney over the course of the week. Surprisingly, Nelson hadn't dropped out of school like everyone said he would and was keeping up with the rest of his classmates and was even passing most of his classes, but just barely. Bart was doing comparably average as well and was quite proud of his straight C average and Homer often bragged that if his son could get a C without even studying, then imagine the grades he would get if he really did apply himself.

Kearney had made it as far as the eighth grade, but had finally dropped out since he was well into his 20's and had several kids to take care of, but he and the old gang still remained a close. Jimbo and Dolph were still hanging in there with below average grades, but had managed to make it to high school finally where they were a grade behind the rest of their classmates, better than Bart had figured they would do. It seems that with the passage of time that they had actually started to accept Bart more into their small circle of misunderstood misfits and he had a lot more time to spend with them now that he and Milhouse had called it quits.

Third period had finally come to an end and it was time for lunch. Bart had just gotten his tray and looked around the cafeteria, spotting Milhouse sitting at their usual table. Their eyes met briefly from across the room and Bart quickly broke the contact and continued walking, not sure really what table he was going to sit at. He really hated being angry at Milhouse and desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were, but he simply couldn't give in that easily. Initially, he had called him on the phone to apologize for neglecting their friendship, but after what he'd said about Lisa, even though he knew that Milhouse had probably just said it in misguided anger, Bart just couldn't be the one to apologize first. He was simply too stubborn to be the bigger man.

He spotted an empty chair and started to take it, but an older boy that he didn't recognize quickly placed a foot in the chair to prevent him from sitting. Bart growled with annoyance, a habit he'd inherited from his mother, and continued on. After about another minute of searching in vain for a free seat, he finally gave up and settled on sneaking out with his tray to eat lunch in the science lab where all the geeks sought refuge during lunch, but before he could leave, a girl's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hey Bart! Come sit with us!" It was Sherry... or Terry, he couldn't tell which. He turned around and smiled in their direction. He wasn't really sure what he felt for the girls, having had a crush on each of them at different points in his young life, but he was happy to see a couple of familiar faces and ones that were happy to sit with him. He really missed the popularity he had in elementary school when he could sit pretty much anywhere he wanted.

"Sure, thanks girls!" said Bart. One of the twins placed her purse in the seat before he could sit as if reserving the seat and he stared at them in confusion.

"One moment please." one of them said before quickly turning and whispering something to her sister. He really used to hate it when they did that, as if they shared their own little freaky world and they were conspiring against him, but now he was just used to it. He waited as their whispers grew in volume and they seemed to have got into a brief disagreement and were probably moments from getting into a petty slapping contest. Finally, they seemed to have come to some sort of consensus, one of the girls getting up and taking the empty seat and leaving the one in the middle for Bart. They looked up at him, grinning. He laughed weakly, figuring that they'd just decided on making him into a Sherri-Terri sandwich. He warily took the seat between them.

"So Bart," said the twin sitting to the right of him. "Why aren't you sitting with Milhouse? There are all sorts of rumors going on about you two you know."

"Wait, before we go any further, which of you is Sherri and which of you is Terri?" asked Bart.

"Silly boy, if you can't figure that out for yourself then we certainly aren't going to tell you!" both said in unison. Bart sighed and poked his fork at the spaghetti on his tray. This was going to be a long lunch period.

After much chatting and nosy questions from the twins, he still hadn't figured out who was who yet, finally giving it up as a lost cause.

"So is it true that you're single?" asked the twin on the left. He'd just taken a bite from his cinnamon bun and struggled to chew it and swallow it quickly, the girls laughed. They had been making a game out of asking him prying questions as soon as they saw that he had a mouthful of food. He swallowed dryly, becoming annoyed with their little game.

"I don't have a girlfriend." Bart answered truthfully, taking a sip of his soda.

"That's not what we asked!" both giggled again.

"Ha ha, very funny." Bart replied. He suddenly had the sinking feeling that some of those rumors that the twins mentioned were more about the nature of his and Milhouse's relationship and that their fight really was being seen as a lovers quarrel as Lisa had so elegantly put it. He'd had about enough of the weird twins for one day so he began to place all of his trash back on the tray to leave. "It's been fun girls, but this swinging bachelor has places to go, see ya."

"More like _confirmed_ bachelor." they giggled, this time almost riotously. Bart gave them a quick fake grin before picking up his tray to leave. Just as he stood, something out of place caught his eye through the window at the far side of the cafeteria. He did a double take, straining his eyes as he searched for the certain palm tree shadow that he knew couldn't have been just his imagination. There were no palm trees anywhere near the school grounds as far as he knew. He left his tray at the table and took quick strides over to the window, but the source of the shadow was nowhere to be seen. He rubbed his eyes.

Either his eyes were playing tricks on him, or Bob really was out there still stalking him just as he had suspected in the beginning. His heart hammered with a renewed fear and disbelief. It certainly wasn't the first time that Bob's distinctive silhouette had played tricks on him, but the thought was satisfying in a sort of masochistic way that Bob's world might possibly still revolve around him, yet at the same time, knowing that the man was probably still a psychopath behind the mask of a gentlemen was like having an old wound re-opened. He be lying if he were to say that he wasn't at least a little terrified.

* * *

><p><strong>A. N. - I started writing this chapter and couldn't stop there and ended up writing the next chapter to go along with it! A double whammy so you can keep on reading! :) I'd like to thank all the readers that reviewed so far. It means a lot that you take the time to drop a quick message.<strong>


	5. White boy and the Witch

**Chapter Five: White Boy and the Witch**

He hadn't really thought that much about Bob lately and was fairly confident that his Bobsession was just another passing phase; that is, until he'd seen that shadow lurking menacingly in the cafeteria window bearing a striking resemblance to Bob. For the rest of the day he kept himself on high alert, making sure to keep an eye out for anything suspicious and staying close to the crowd, knowing that Bob would be less likely to kill him in front of an audience.

As soon as school let out, he bumped into Milhouse on the way out the door, both letting out a surprised gasp. Milhouse's eyes were wide upon recognition, but he quickly masked his surprise with the same cold aloofness that he'd maintained all week. Milhouse readjusted his backpack and continued walking off into the parking lot.

Bart firmly gripped the strap of his backpack and stalked off to the sidewalk with his skateboard under his arm. He didn't really feel like riding the bus or skating home; he just wanted to walk. So Milhouse wasn't quite as dependent on their friendship as he'd thought and his life didn't really revolve around him anymore; so what? He should be happy that Milhouse seemed to be doing better off even if it was without him and maybe it would do them both good to take a little break from their friendship for a while. He only hoped that this was just a break and not something more permanent. He'd heard many stories from his parents of old friends they'd lost touch with or fought with that had gone off, never to be seen or heard from again and he hated the idea that that could possibly happen with him and Milhouse.

A twinge of jealousy hit hard when Bart looked back saw that Milhouse was standing in the parking lot, leaning up against a light blue, and likely very expensive, hybrid car and talking to one of the intellectuals that he knew from band practice. One that actually didn't seem as dorky as the rest of the nerds, but more like a neatly dressed and somewhat attractive guy from a well-off family. He looked a bit like Bart, though taller and with coal-black hair, a sweater-vest with a tie and polished shoes; he was everything that Bart wasn't.

"Hey, Bart man! Ya got a bur up your ass or what? You aren't going to just blow me off and leave like that are you?" called Jimbo's voice. He looked over to the side of the school building to a small alcove against the graffito-covered brick wall; it was a spot that the gang frequented after school or whenever they ditched class. There, he saw Jimbo Jones, Dolph Starbeam and Nelson Muntz all gathered around together.

"Blow you off and leave," Dolph repeated, sniggering at the sexual innuendo in Jimbo's comment.

"Yeah! That's what _she_ said!" Bart added as he approached them, provoking a chorus of laughter from the group.

"Wanna torch up one of these white boys?" Jimbo offered Bart his cigarette. "Really clears your lungs."

"No thanks. Despite the fact that sharing your cigarette would be like practically kissing you, I'd really prefer not to ruin my health and empty my wallet by supporting huge corporations that don't give a damn about my well-being," Bart stated in a matter-of-fact tone, inwardly cringing at just how much Lisa-like he sounded.

"You said 'despite the fact', that means you'd actually _like_ to kiss Jimbo! Sort of like a double negative in a way." said Dolph. Sometimes, Bart had the feeling that Jimbo was holding Dolph back as he sometimes seemed smarter and more open-minded than he let on.

"No it's not," Bart asserted. "I was using sarcasm you ass-hat! Big BIG difference. Just like someone calling you 'intelligent' when you're really not. Now _that_ would be sarcasm," Bart shoved Dolph playfully just to let him know he was teasing.

"Stop! Just STOP with the grammar lesson! You two are giving me a headache!" Jimbo yelled, holding his hands to the sides of his head.

Bart looked out into the parking lot, seeing that Milhouse was still out there talking to his yuppy-ish fellow band geek. Milhouse seemed to be laughing over something the guy had said before turning and seeing Bart watching him.

"You know Jimbo, think I could go for a smoke." Bart said, reaching his hand out to Jimbo while keeping his eyes fixed on Milhouse. He knew that his friend hated smoking even more than he did so it would be the ultimate slap in the face. If Milhouse was looking to boost his image by embracing his more geeky side, then Bart could play that game as well by embracing his inner bad boy.

"Really?" Jimbo asked, surprised. "Okay man here, but just one. My mom bought these for me and I'm on my last pack," he passed the cigarette to Bart who held it between his fingers for a bit, getting the feel of holding it and waiting to see if Milhouse was looking.

"Your mom bought them for you?" Nelson asked. "My mom's too cheap to buy them for me."

"She says if I'm going to blow all my money on cigarettes anyway, she'd rather just save me the trouble. Besides, it gives us something to bond over," Jimbo replied, leaning back against the brick wall.

Bart made sure Milhouse was looking before he finally put it to his mouth and took a small puff from it. He let the smoke rise from his mouth slowly and even though the taste was rather strong and almost overpowering, it really wasn't as disgusting as he imagined it would be; that is, until the second puff when he inhaled. It felt as if his throat was on fire, and he coughed clumsily, choking out as much of the smoke as he could and gasping for oxygen. It felt like little needles in the back of his throat which was now so dry that it stung even more and for a moment, he thought he was suffocating. The boys all laughed, especially Nelson with his characteristic 'Ha Ha'.

"Phht, give me that," Jimbo smirked, taking the cigarette back from Bart's hand.

"Yeah. He's a total virgin. You could almost see smoke coming from his ears!" said Nelson, provoking another round of laughter from the gang, all except Bart who was still hacking up the leftover, thick taste that clung to the roof of his mouth and tongue. Suddenly, his history teacher, Mr. Dullman came along and Bart quickly stiffened his posture. Mr. Greg Dullman was pretty much like his name stated, a dull man with a boring droning voice. He was a rather thin, pale and chronically depressed man with graying hair and glasses and an abnormally strong addiction to coffee or anything with lots of caffeine.

"I didn't do it!" Bart blurted loudly. Mr. Dullman gave him a strange, questioning look before moving on to say something to Jimbo.

"Good day Mr. Jones," said the teacher, though judging by his unenthusiastic voice, he was having everything but a 'good day', the tired, dark bags under his eyes an indication of his lack of sleep.

"Yo teach, how's it hanging?" said Jimbo.

"Not so well. Mind lending me a smoke?" asked Mr. Dullman.

"No problemo!" Jimbo placed his cigarette into his own mouth to hold it while he reached into his jeans and retrieved one for the teacher. He held it out to him only to quickly snatch it away teasingly. "Nah ah ah, not so fast teach."

"Okay fine. I'll give you an A on your next pop-quiz, just give me the damn thing!" Mr. Dullman yelled uncharacteristically. The teacher cleared his throat, resuming his usual calm and boring demeanor. Bart had the feeling Mr. Dullman would get along well with his old teacher Ms. Crabapple.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya my good man," Jimbo gave him the cigarette and lit it for him while the man's hand shook as if from too much caffeine and stress. Jimbo placed a friendly hand on the history teacher's shoulder. "You know, you're alright," said Jimbo.

Bart shook his head in disbelief, grinning at the insanity that was the Springfield education system. He looked over to where Milhouse was, but he and his new friend were gone, as was the Prius they'd been leaning on. Either his parents were loaded or completely stupid to buy such a car for a kid his age.

"Yo Bart, me and the gang are going over to Kearney's wanna come?" asked Jimbo, stomping out the cigarette on the ground.

"Maybe some other time. I gotta get going," Bart slung his book bag over his shoulder and watched his friends leave while he lingered behind a moment longer as he considered going off to see what Bob was up to. He still didn't even know where the man lived and was interested to find out, but he decided that it could wait until later.

"Hey Bart," came a girl's voice to the left of him, startling him enough to cause him to stumble backwards against the brick wall.

"Hey Bart." came another girl's voice from the right. It was the notorious purple haired twins and they had him cornered once again. They both had a mischievous and predatory look in their eyes causing him to panic, his pulse quickened as he pressed himself flat against the wall, nowhere to escape. Then the unexpected happened as one of the twins closed in on him and kissed him full on the lips, his skateboard falling from his fingertips and onto the ground with a loud crash. It was brief so he didn't really have time to protest, though he's not sure if he would have, given the chance. Her lips had been as soft as rose petals and she smelled just as sweet. Before he caught his breath again, the other twin kissed him almost identically as her sister had.

"What the-?" Bart stammered, his eyes wide with shock. His face flushed hotly and he knew he must be as red a tomato just then. Whatever they were playing at, it was a little too unexpected and he wasn't sure he could even handle one girl, much less two at once!

"Ew, a smoker," the girls exclaimed in unison.

"What the _hell_ are you two playing at? I'm not just some boy toy put here for your amusement!" Bart yelled. He stepped out from between them and stood a safe distance away, staring at them both in disbelief.

"So, who's the better kisser Bart? Tell us!" they demanded.

"Better kisser?" Bart shook his head at the absurdity of it all. "So you mean you're just using me as a meter to see who can kiss better?"

"Yep!" They replied gleefully and with no remorse.

"Uh..." He was in trouble now. One thing he knew from experience was that it was dangerous to anger the twins since there were two of them and they could make life miserable for anyone that crossed them the wrong way.

"Okay, but I'd say the real question would be whether or not _I'm_ a good kisser," said Bart, turning the tables on him and grinning confidently. "Of course there's no doubt that the answer is a resounding _yes_!"

"Eh... I'd say mediocre at best," said one of the girls. "Now cut the crap and give us an answer!" the girl ordered, shoving him in the chest.

"Well... I would tell you, but I don't know who is who," said Bart, stalling. Honestly their kisses were as identical as their appearance which just made them seem even more freakish than before.

"Well, if you can't tell by now then we're certainly not going to tell you!" They both said in an odd, almost robotic unified voice. It was just like them to be vague and unforthcoming, expecting people to just automatically be able to read their minds.

"Hmm, I guess this is a conundrum isn't it?" Bart replied cheekily. "Ah well... catch ya later girls!" and with that, he picked up his board, clacked it down onto the sidewalk and made a quick retreat.

"Hey wait!" they called out to him as he sped away. Bart laughed loudly as he heard them arguing amongst themselves until their voices faded into the distance. It was far from his first kiss, but the girls were as cute as they were demanding. He probably would have even considered going out with one of them if they weren't so dreadfully contradictory and moody. Being identical didn't help much either and he felt sorry for the poor sods that were going to be their boyfriends since it was practically a recipe for disaster the minute one of them got mistaken for the other.

- o - o - o -

When he arrived home, he noticed that there was a white sedan in the driveway which didn't seem too out of the ordinary since it was probably just one of his mother's friends over for a visit. Though he did take notice that the car seemed to have nicked the wooden fence separating their yard and the Flanders' yard as well as the mailbox which now sat at an odd angle. The car also seemed to have left skid-marks in the grass where it had finally parked sideways in the driveway, effectively blocking in both parking spaces and where it now sat innocently in the driveway having come to the end of it's path of destruction.

Panic suddenly shot through him like a paralyzing dart and he found himself unable to move for a long, agonizing moment, his mind suddenly going into all sorts of dark places as he entertained the thought that Bob might have something to do with this! He might be in the house, using his family as bait and awaiting his arrival!

He finally mustered the strength to move, rushing towards the house without caution and bursting through the front door. What he saw was that his worst fears were confirmed. The foyer and adjoining rooms looked completely ransacked. He moved slowly, straining his ears as he heard a commotion coming from the hallway beyond the dining room. He picked up an umbrella from near the door to use as a makeshift weapon if he needed it and tiptoed quietly into the dining room.

There he saw most of the stuff from the rumpus room seemed to have been pushed into the dining room. The table was covered with all the stuff from the junk drawers and Maggie's toy box sat in the corner. He inched closer, his grip on the umbrella handle tightening. He just knew his mother was probably tied up in there and Bob was probably sitting and waiting for him. Waiting with a smug grin on his face, a knife clutched in his hands and sadistic plans of torture and eventual murder pervading his wicked thoughts.

He stopped in his tracks when he heard his mother's voice.

"Oh don't worry about Homer, I'm sure he'll warm up to the idea if we just give him a little time," he heard Marge say. He sighed with relief and loosed his grip; a wave of relief washed over him that there seemed to be no tension or signs of distress in her voice.

"You think so Margie? I really appreciate you letting me stay here 'till I get back on my feet! You're a real sweetheart!" The woman giggled.

"Well, family has to stick together and while you're here I just want to say that our house his your house! I really hope you can make yourself at home," said Marge. Bart placed the voice of the mysterious woman as that of his older cousin Cosette, the daughter of Marge's schizophrenic uncle Arthur who was consequently the same uncle that went on the the psycho shooting spree yelling, "Shoot 'em all and let God sort 'em out!"

Cosette was forty-five and the mother of six rambunctious kids ages ten to twenty three. She was sort of a modern day hippy with a gothic, Elvira-esque style. She had straight, black, wiry hair and was as thin as a rail, probably even verging on anorexic, but Bart has always seen an exotic sort of beauty in her that the rest of the family didn't seem to appreciate. Bart thought that she even bared a striking resemblance to the singer Cher, particularly around the eyes and the prominent cheekbones.

Cosette and her ex once had lived in the Simpson household when Bart was just a baby, but they were kicked out after having a fallout with Homer. His parents never really revealed any details of the incident. The family didn't really approve of her occult ways, identifying herself as Wiccan at one point in her youth, but Bart always thought that it was awesome to have a self-proclaimed witch in the family. Cosette had her own way of doing things and despite all the bad things he'd heard about her, that she was lazy, flaky an ex-stripper and dressed a bit slutty, he'd always admired her for the rebel that she was; though he didn't really think that Cosette liked him very much since whenever she'd come over to visit, she always gave him the fake smiles and small talk before pushing him aside and going off to talk to someone else that she deemed worthy of her time. He asked his mother once why she seemed to act like that around him and Marge told him that Cosette was probably just a little jealous of him. Why she would be jealous of him, his mother had never said.

"Aw shucks, you're gonna make me cry Margie." came Cosette's slightly southern accent that she always tried to conceal. Bart hid behind the doorway listening, not really wanting to reveal his presence yet. He'd always been the master of eavesdropping.

"It's Marge, and it's no trouble! No trouble at all!" said his mother. Just then, he heard his sisters coming in through the front door.

"What the-?" He heard Lisa exclaim.

"Why's my toy box way out here?" asked Maggie. He turned around and waved his sisters over, quickly shushing them to be quiet and listen.

"Bart what's going on?" Lisa whispered.

"It's flaky old cousin Cosette. I just overheard that she's going to be moving in here for a couple of months."

"What!" Lisa exclaimed more as a statement than a question. "Really?"

"Yes! Shh..." he placed a finger over her mouth to quiet her. "I'm trying to listen."

"Bart don't you know it's bad to eavesdrop?" whispered Lisa disapprovingly.

"I just can't wait to see Lisa, Maggie and Brat again." came cousin Cosette's voice.

"Move over." Lisa nudged Bart out of the way and began to listen and Maggie followed suit. He laughed quietly as it seemed his sisters were as bad as himself when it came to listening in on people's conversations.

"It's Bart!" Marge corrected, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Yeah, I know... I just like messin' with ya!" The woman let out a laugh that sounded somewhere between a giggle and a cat hacking up hairballs, one could even call it almost witch-like. Her signature cackle, yet Bart had always liked her laugh.

"Um... I did tell you I've got another dog that's going to be coming along with me didn't I?" Cosette said, her voice slightly higher and wavering nervously. "She's a black lab named Zelda."

"Uh... no I don't think you mentioned that," Marge muttered, her words taking on that sort of gravelly, growling tone she always got whenever she was annoyed but was trying to hide it.

"Oh," said his cousin sadly. "Well I suppose I could drop her off at the pound if I had to..." Cosette hinted, a clear ploy for a little sympathy from his mother.

"No I wouldn't here of it! After all, you're only going to be here a couple of months anyway, what's one more dog going to hurt?" said Marge decidedly.

"Aw, I knew you wouldn't let me get rid of her! Such an animal lover you are! Oh I just got to give you a hug! Come here!" Bart heard his mother gasp as if the air had suddenly been squeezed out of her.

"I'll just keep her tied up in the backyard and you'd never even know she was there! She's used to being outside a lot anyway since that's were she was kept at my old house..." Cosette's words trailed off wistfully. "Oh... I'm sorry Margie. I just mention the old house with that damn foreclosure sign in the front and I just start crying all over again." her laughter came out as halfway sobs.

Bart heard that after her husband had left, she never found a job and rarely ever bathed and just spent her days playing World of Warcraft with her long-distance boyfriend while her kids did all the cooking for themselves and practically ruined the house, the whole thing turning into a festering wasteland of roaches and animal feces. Soon, they were so far in debt that they lost everything. It was all sort of sad really.

"Aw... It's okay," said Marge comfortingly. "You'll have your own place soon, don't worry. All you have to do is find a job and you're all set. I can even help you look for a job and a place if you'd like."

"Bless your little heart," said Cosette. "Hey, you got a computer and internet dontcha?"

"Yes, there's one in the living-room room, why?"

"Well, me and my daughter Cassie constantly fight over who gets to use my computer, she's such a computer hog. I was just wondering if I could use it occasionally to check my e-mail and stuff."

"Daughter?" asked Marge.

"Oh... um. I was kinda hoping that Cassie could stay here too and we could sorta... both help each other find a job and get a house together. I forgot to mention that didn't I?" said Cosette weakly. Cassie was nineteen years old, the third child of six, and was sort of quiet as far as Bart knew. As far as looks went, she was tall and a bit over weight, keeping her brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She worked as a volunteer at the local zoo and had once brought a huge snakeskin over for them to see which Bart thought was really cool. Other than that, he didn't know much else about her.

"Um well..." Marge hesitated. "I guess that makes sense, but where will she sleep?"

"Oh she can cram in the bed with me. At my old house we sometimes all crowded into one bed like packed sardines. One big jumble of legs and arms so I think we can manage fine. So... can I use the computer sometimes?" asked Cosette a little desperately, jumping straight back to the question at hand. Bart had heard that she was a bit of an internet addict.

"Huh?" Marge asked distractedly, probably picturing the jumble of legs and arms all in one bed like Bart had imagined. "Oh sure. Help yourself..."

"Thanks a bunch Margie," she giggled.

"It's Marge." his mother corrected grudgingly for the umpteenth time.

"Well, I gotta go take a piss break real quick Margie, be right back," They heard noise from within the room and quickly scrambled away from the door and casually sat around the table as if they hadn't been listening. All but Maggie who stayed by the door with her little hands still pressed against it.

"Maggie!" said Bart, trying his best to keep his voice low. The door to the rumpus room creaked open and in came cousin Cosette, patting Maggie on the head.

"Hi kids," she said, giving them a quick smile as she passed through the dining room where they were seated and into the foyer.

"I don't believe it," said Bart, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands. "Cousin Cosette's going to be staying here."

"Yeah... I think it might be a little fun having her here though," Lisa added hopefully. "Kinda like one big sleepover and she likes a lot of the same things that we like... sort of hip for a forty-five year old lady don't you think?" Lisa offered, laughing weakly. She was likely sensing the same foreboding feeling that he was having and if cousin Cosette's driving habits were any indication, this was likely going to be a recipe for family discord.

"Yeah maybe. I think it'll give me a chance to try to make a good impression. I don't think she's ever really liked me that much," Bart sighed.

"Well, I think it'll be fine. After all, anyone can put up with a house guest for a couple of months," said Lisa.

"Yeah, but I don't know how Dad's going to take all this when he gets home," Bart looked at his watch; Homer was off his medical leave and would be home from work any moment and Bart didn't want to miss the blow-out that would likely happen when his dad found out that some of Marge's family were their new house guests, especially since none of their past house guests ever seemed to work out well; guests such as Otto, Gill Gunderson, Cooter and Spud, not to mention even Sideshow Bob at one point. Yes, this was going to be one blowout between Marge and Homer that would likely be remembered for years to come.

"Hi again kids," Cosette giggled as she emerged back into the room, a trail of cigarette smoke trailing behind her and wrapping around them as she passed by. Bart gagged at the nauseating memory of the cigarette he'd tried with Jimbo that afternoon, the taste he still felt deep in his lungs. He looked at Lisa and brought his hands to his throat, making a gagging motion to which Lisa laughed silently.

Bart looked back at his cousin Cosette down the hallway as she leaned her skeletal, lithe frame against the doorway, watching as Marge worked on getting the room ready for her. The woman looked even thinner than he'd remembered, her hair a bit more gray than before. She wore a tattered black, knitted tank top which slung loosely over her shoulders revealing her blue bra straps. Her skintight black jeans seemed to have holes in odd places and not the kind that would be fashionably placed. It looked as if she couldn't afford anything else to wear and he felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. Everything about her just seemed to provoke sympathy like an unwanted old ally cat.

"You know Margie," Cosette called out, still watching and not offering to lend a helping hand as Marge toiled away, making a ruckus as she cleared out the room. "I noticed you had a few cobwebs and stains at the tops of all the walls, but then I thought... well since you're all so short and Homer is so... rotund, nobody could really reach up high enough to clean them," Cosette cackled, bending double with laughter. "Ever hear of a step-stool? Oh, I'm just messin' with ya."

Bart and Lisa exchanged worried looks as cousin Cosette continued her witchy, almost cutesy cackle. If there was one thing you didn't do it was to criticize Marge's cleaning, even if it was a joke. Especially coming from a woman that lived in so much filth that social services had threatened to take her kids away numerous times until she cleaned up her ways.

* * *

><p><strong>A. N. - It looks like Cosette is likely to stir up some drama! As if Bart's life didn't have enough drama as it is. This is quite similar to my own experience with a house guest and her daughter so I have a lot of inspiration to work with.<strong>

**I had a little fun with the title of this chapter with 'white boy' being slang for cigarettes and 'the witch' referring to cousin Cosette. Also, there will be more of Sideshow Bob soon so don't worry. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed that I posted two chapters at once. :)**


	6. Your Love

**Chapter Six: Your Love**

**Quick Note: I don't think lyrics are allowed here, so I omitted them. Wherever you see 'XOXOX' is where the omitted lyrics are, but you can read this chapter with the lyrics in my deviant art gallery. (link to my gallery on my profile page)**

"He called me WHAT?" Lisa yelled at the top of her lungs, causing a picture frame to fall off of the kitchen wall. "Why that little... when I get my hands on him I'll..." Lisa growled, making strangling motions with her hands in an eerily similar way as their father would.

"Just forget it; he was saying it to hurt me, not you," said Bart as he sat at the kitchen table with Lisa directly across from him. Lisa had kept pestering him until he finally let her in on the fight he'd had with Milhouse. A persistent one she was, but he knew that she only had his best interest in mind and it did feel good to get it off his chest and to confide in someone.

"It's no big deal really. Everyone knows you're as pure as snow Lis," Bart smirked.

"Well if it's really no big deal, then why are you two still fighting?" Lisa asked. Truth be told, the whole 'bros before hos' comment was just the breaking point of all the underlying tension that had been building between them.

"Well, as annoyed as I am at Milhouse, I can't help but feel a little touched that you defended me like that... but you two have been friends forever. It's a little sad to see it all end over something so stupid," said Lisa, her eyes reflecting that sadness.

Bart averted his eyes guiltily. How could he confess to her that the real source of discord between himself and Milhouse centered around his insatiable and inexplicable interest in Sideshow Bob? Really, she didn't have to know that he'd been practically stalking the man that had tormented him throughout much of his childhood, likely putting his own life in danger in the process and when he thought about it, there really wasn't much logic to his erratic behavior.

"Hello! Earth to Bart!" said Lisa, waving her hands in front of his face impatiently. "Just what are you sitting there daydreaming about with that vacant expression?"

"Oh... nothing," he said distractedly. "You know..." Bart began, "I'm not used to having to care about how Milhouse feels. Normally I could just treat him like dirt and he'd still stick around like a loyal old dog," he leaned over the table, crossing his arms and resting his head down tiredly. Something just didn't feel right about Milhouse's behavior, like he was hiding something and it wasn't all about Bob.

"You know... this whole thing seems a bit fishy to me." said Lisa hesitantly. "To think that this fight started over little old me... it seems a little off..."

Bart picked his head up and sat up a little straighter as their mother rushed into the kitchen, put on her oven mitts and pulled from the oven a pie that she had been baking, placing it on the counter. Soon, the kitchen filled with the mouth-watering scent of pecan pie, one of Homer's favorite dishes. Marge leaned against the counter for a moment and let out a sigh of relief that the pie hadn't burned.

"Mom, you've really outdone yourself with dinner this time! Everything looks so delicious!" Lisa remarked.

"Why thank you! I want to make sure your father is well fed and in a good mood when I..." Marge hesitated.

"-have to spring the news on him?" Bart added, leaning back in his chair at the table.

"Well yes," Marge reluctantly conceded, stirring the pot of chili she had cooking on the stove then stopping to take a taste of it. "Your father's probably not very keen on letting anyone else move in, especially since that Gil Gunderson fellow." Marge shuddered at the memory. "Come to think of it, I think Gil and Cosette would make a very lovely couple!"

"No they wouldn't," said Bart. "If Cosette's anything like Gil then they'd both starve since moochers can't really mooch off of each other," Bart laughed.

"Now Bart, keep your voice down! We don't know for sure that she'll be a mooch and I want you to be very nice to her while she's here. Who knows, maybe it will be like having a second mother here for a while. A little more estrogen and a little less testosterone might be just what this family needs."

"Hmph, there's already enough estrogen in this household if you ask me." Bart rolled his eyes. Marge giggled and picked up the spoon, stirring the pot once again.

"Oh god... I'm exhausted..." came Cosette's tired voice as she dragged herself into the kitchen weighed down by bags from the grocery store. It only appeared to be two small bags, but the way she was carrying on, it looked like she were trying to drag in two solid, half-ton statues.

"I don't think I can make it Cassie!" she grunted, dropping the bags to the floor at her feet and bending double as she struggled to catch her breath. Soon after, her daughter Cassie came in with a couple of bags and sat them down on the floor next to where her mother had deposited her bags.

"I don't think I can go back out there and get the rest of the bags... do you think you kids could go and help Cassie?" Cosette suggested, her eyes flitting to Bart and Lisa expectantly.

"Sure, I'll help!" Lisa darted out of the kitchen, eager to help their new live-ins, yet Bart remained seated. He wasn't fond of having another 'mother figure' as Marge had put it, and he really didn't see why he should have to help. He wasn't about to become one of Cosette's little servants like she'd taught her own kids to be!

"Bart don't be rude! Go help bring in the groceries would you?" Marge added with a frustrated growl.

"Why should I have to-" Bart began, only to be cut off by his mother.

"Bart!" Marge yelled.

"Ugh... FINE!" Bart stood up from the table and reluctantly left to help Lisa and Cassie bring in another twenty or so bags of groceries. It wasn't like it was a big deal or anything, but the fact that Cosette had been living there not even a whole day and had already started ordering them around just struck him the wrong way. If this was any indication of how things were to be, then he had the feeling that they were in for one hell of a ride.

- o - o - o -

Cosette and Cassie had eaten dinner with the family that night and quickly left afterwords, saying that they were headed out to the nearest bowling alley, giving Marge a chance to break the news to Homer. As expected, Homer had not taken the news well as indicated by the raised voices that could be heard from their bedroom that night.

Bart sat on the right side of the couch with Lisa to the left as they watched television, yet even that couldn't drown out the yelling coming from upstairs. Maggie was laying on her stomach in the floor with one of her coloring books, seemingly unaffected by the argument that resonated all over the house. At first it had only been their father that they heard, but soon, they heard their mother joining in on the fray as well.

"Well Homer, if you want them to leave, then you make sure to tell them that to their face when they get back tonight!" Marge yelled with a conviction Bart had rarely heard in her voice.

"FINE! I'll do just that!" Homer countered.

"Oh no you WON'T Mister!" Marge shrieked, stomping her foot down sharply.

Bart winced at the shrillness in his mother's voice, knowing that he'd hate to be on the receiving end of that yell. Not too long after that, they heard a door slam and quick footsteps coming down the stairs followed by another door slamming.

"You could have at least talked with me about it first!" Homer yelled at the top of his lungs, but by then, Marge was likely out of earshot as it sounded like she'd slammed the front door and left.

"Mom?" Lisa called out, receiving no answer. Bart sighed. He hated when his parents fought even more now that he was older and understood just how lucky he was to have two parents that weren't divorced like most of his friend's parents were. His mother would probably cry a little and Homer would probably sulk a little until they both got tired of that and finally kissed and made up just as they always had. That was his hope anyway.

Lisa took the remote and flipped through the channels, finding nothing of interest to watch. It wasn't until the sight of Bob's face flashing across the screen for a split second that Bart stopped and took notice. He suddenly reached over and snatched the remote away from his sister and flipped back through the stations, searching for the familiar face that had caught his attention.

"Hey!" Lisa protested. Bart paid her no mind and only watched, completely engrossed in finding out what Bob was doing on television; on the news for some recent crime no doubt! He just knew it! He knew that Bob really hadn't changed and the thought sent a chill of reawakened terror and adrenalin through his bones. Finally, Bob's face came into view again just as the television show host had finished introducing him. Bart paused, completely mesmerized as Bob began to sing. His ears were met with that strong and powerful, yet gracefully lilting voice singing an operatic that he'd never heard before, but one that ensnared the senses fully.

_XOXOX_

Long, slender fingers gently gripped the microphone stand as the man poured his very soul into the sensual lyrics. Eyes closed in concentration, lost in song.

_XOXOX_

Bold and powerful was his baritone, yet lilting like that of a weeping violin, building and waning, swelling, then dwindling away in the waves of passion flowing directly from his heart. His voice choked up with emotion on the last 'your love will kill me'.

It was a melody that unknowingly spoke to his very soul and yet... he wondered if everyone watching felt the same. As if this magnificent singer, expressing his very heart with that angelic voice, were singing to him and him alone. Bringing to life forbidden, hidden desires that dare not seek the light of day. Becoming lost in the sea of those shadowy eyes, likely worlds away.

_XOXOX_

Bob let go of the mic, his hands flung out to his sides in a dramatic display, his eyes closed tightly shut as his voice rose powerfully in volume and vigor. Thick locks of deep, burgundy wine hair swayed gently as he sang. Bart was unable to blink, his eyes unabashedly and unyieldingly fixated on the man. His breath caught in his throat as the melody reached it's fevered climax like waves crashing onto a thirsty shore.

_XOXOX_

Bob's hair swished forward as he fell to his knees, panting heavily and overcome with the same passion that burned within. The words seemed rather poignant and oddly appropriate... striking a cord in his heart as if some part of it rang true that Bob really was singing to him. Perhaps it was just a mere flight of fancy, but at the moment it was as if his soul had clung willingly and foolhardily to the notion.

Bart tried inconspicuously to still his rapid pulse, his breathy afterglow lest he not be discovered. He looked over to Lisa who seemed to be in a similar state that he was in, her hand brought to her chest. The man could practically make love to anyone with his voice and it was brilliant! Oh why had he never appreciated it so much as he did now?

"Wow! He really has a beautiful voice doesn't he?" Lisa asked, her eyes still fixated onto the screen as Bob stood to his feet and took another bow, the curtains dropping around him amidst the high-pitched squeals from an overly exuberant audience.

"Yeah, I guess..." said Bart, playing off his fascination as if he weren't impressed in the slightest, "but he's still Sideshow Bob. Don't let his angelic voice fool you."

"Come on, admit it Bart. Your eyes were practically glued to the screen just as mine were. I know that look when I see it," she said knowingly, almost smugly.

"What?" asked Bart nervously, a wave of panic shooting through him. Was he really that easily read by her? Damn... Why did she have to be so perceptive?

"You," Lisa stated. "I always knew that deep down, you had a love of the fine arts, but your bad boy image won't allow you to appreciate it," said Lisa to which Bart let out the breath he'd been holding. Okay, so maybe she wasn't as perceptive about some things. Of course, him being completely mesmerized not only by that smooth voice, but also by those nimble fingers, those soulful eyes and that lanky silhouette that was to die for... it was just so completely unlikely that there was no way she would be able to deduce that in a million years! He couldn't even believe it himself or really come to grips with what it all meant.

- o - o - o -

It was early Tuesday morning when Bart had awakened the next day. He hadn't slept very well that night and he knew he'd had a night full of eventful dreams but he could recall not one of them which was frustrating enough. What made the morning even worse was that when he staggered into the kitchen, his mind still foggy from sleep, he reached into the upper cabinet and pulled out a box of cereal, only to find that it was empty. Just yesterday, the box had been full. He shook his head, amused. He'd heard of his cousin's unhealthy obsession over sugary cereal, but this was ridiculous.

He looked around, seeing that everyone was already seated around the table anyway and it looked as if his mother had already made a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs. In the middle of the table sat a fresh pitcher of orange juice and it all smelled absolutely delicious. It was only then, that he realized that his father wasn't at the table.

"Where's dad?" Bart asked, looking around the room, his eyes stopping on his mother as she cleared her throat.

"Your father's still upset about last night..." his mother looked away apprehensively.

"But where is he?" asked Bart casually.

"Mmm... He slept on the couch last night and he has the day off today so I thought I'd just... leave him there to sleep in," she explained. It made sense enough, so Bart shrugged it off and sat down at his usual seat at the table. He grabbed a piece of bacon from Lisa's plate, prompting an exasperated sound of disgust from his younger sibling.

"Ugh... Bart!"

"What? You want it back?" Bart asked, taking the piece of bacon and licking it all the way up one side.

"Seriously? God... how disgusting," Lisa sighed. Maggie laughed heartily at Bart's antics which made him feel much affection towards his youngest sister, that she was actually taking his side for once.

"Bart, stop licking your sister's food!" Marge scolded, slapping a fresh piece of bacon onto Lisa's plate to make up for it. "Aren't you a little too old for that sort of thing?"

"Never!" Bart replied, cackling evilly. Lisa rolled her eyes.

The family continued eating breakfast and chatting amongst themselves until Cassie came in, her little chihuahua Anakin in tow, cocking his leg up and urinating on the fridge in passing. Marge growled with disapproval.

"Good morning," Cassie said casually, opening the fridge and inspecting it's contents thoroughly for the longest time. She reached in and pulled out a tub of chicken salad, knocking several things into the floor in the process and shutting the fridge, not bothering to pick it up. Marge quickly went behind her, scowling as she cleaned up the mess on the floor with paper-towels, then sprayed the fridge where the dog peed with disinfectant.

After Cosette and Cassie's epic trip to the grocery store, they'd filled the kitchen to the brim with things they'd bought with food stamps until there really was no more space to store anything else in the kitchen. Every spot in the fridge, every cabinet was filled to the max with food and kitchen supplies that no one in the family even liked. They said that they were stocking up the family kitchen as payment for letting them stay.

"Cassie, I have breakfast already made if you'd like some," Marge offered.

"Thanks, but I think I'll have something else instead," said Cassie, setting an armful of food down onto the counter and grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal from the overhead cabinet. Bart was tempted to make an insensiteve joke about all of the food Cassie had in front of her, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Oh... well okay. Tell your mother when you see her that breakfast is ready."

Sure, but I don't think you'll be seeing her anytime soon," said Cassie, taking a bite out of a chocolate chip cookie, "She stayed up all night long playing World of Warcraft with her online boyfriend from New Orleans."

"Oh... well that sounds... fun," said Marge, unsure what to make of it. "I'm glad she has someone special in her life then."

"Hey Aunt Margie... Mom wanted me to ask you if it was okay if the rest of the kids come over for movie night tonight?" asked Cassie shyly.

"Well..." Marge hesitated for a moment. "Of course they can come over! I haven't seen the little ones in years!"

"Great!" came a voice from the doorway, Cosette's. She staggered into the kitchen, yawning and scratching her stomach through her navy blue robe. Her hair was sticking out in all directions as if she'd just stumbled out of bed after a hard night with little sleep.

"So Lisa, Bart..." Cosette began in her sleep-slurred, perhaps even intoxicated speech.. "I have a movie that I just know you will both like!"

"What's it called?" Bart asked, perking up at the idea.

"_Psycho_, the new one. I've also got _The Exorcist_ if we have time later!" she replied enthusiastically as she moved to Homer's usual seat at the table, flipping the chair backwards and straddling it.

"Alright man! Can't wait!" Bart kicked his feet up onto the table and precariously tilted his chair back onto two legs. He had seen both movies several times, but only when they'd aired on TV and even then they had been severely cut for time and content so he was actually really excited to see the full versions. Perhaps living with Cosette for a while would actually be more fun than he'd anticipated. Only time would tell.

"Lisa you up for it?" Cosette asked.

"Yeah! Count me in!" Lisa smiled. Lisa was a casual fan of horror movies, but not as much as Bart was. He practically devoured every cult classic since the dawn of time and was decidedly more of a fan of the older classics and the occasional foreign film with subtitles. Sure, the newer slasher movies were full of gore and special effects, but they lacked substance.

"Good!" Cosette said excitedly. "We can make a night of it! I've got all my kids coming over tonight and we can all sit around the TV with the lights off and have a good, old-fashioned scare!"

"Great! I'll invite Rod and Todd over too," Bart smirked, knowing that the Flanders kids would be scarred for life if they saw a movie like that.

"Bart..." Lisa warned.

Bart grinned impishly. He could hear his bus approaching in the distance; the distinct sound of the diesel engine squalling was unmistakable. He grabbed his bag and quickly rushed out the door, ready for another day of school and thoroughly looking forward to movie night tonight. Anything to take his mind off of his parents fight, Milhouse, and especially the object of his distraction: Bob.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - "Your Love Will Kill Me" is from the Notre Dame de Paris Musical. I made a music video on Youtube of Bob singing this song, but it's not very flashy like my other vids since it was made on Windows Movie Maker, before I got Sony Vegas, but I think it turned out okay so check it out if you like. My youtube channel is listed on my profile.<strong>


	7. Movie Night

**Chapter Seven: Movie Night**

Warning: Somewhat graphic scene of violence in this chapter.

"Hey Rod, It's me Bart. Listen, we're having movie night over here and I was wondering if you and Todd would like to come over and join us?" said Bart, speaking from phone in the kitchen, unable to wipe the mischievous grin from his face. Of course, Rod and Todd could be described as having quite the sheltered childhood and horror films were strictly forbidden by their father.

"Bart? As in Bart Simpson?" came the confused voice of the eldest Flanders kid on the other end of the line.

"The one and only! So are you guys up for it? Tonight is going to be totally epic!" said Bart.

"While I must thank you for your kind offer Bart, our Dad only let's us watch movies that he's reviewed personally himself," Rod replied politely.

"It's just the 'Happy Little Elves', nothing more wholesome and family oriented than that!" Bart assured him, trying his damnedest to keep the deceit and amusement from his voice.

"Dad says that elves are the devil's henchmen! The demon-spawn of Satan! I'm sorry Bart, but I'll have to turn you down on the offer. Thanks anyway."

"But what about Santa's elves? Aren't they like... holy or something?" Bart shrugged.

"No."

"Uh okay... whatever. Just forget I mentioned it," Bart hung up, quickly becoming bored at messing with the Flanders' brothers. It was getting late, the sun was setting and the rest of Cosette's brood would be arriving soon for the scheduled movie night. Bart hadn't seen his cousins in years and he was sort of looking forward to it. When they were younger, they were like his partners in crime, but as the years passed, they seemed to have grown apart.

Homer had cooped himself up in the basement in front of the TV, still sulking and angry at Marge for letting people move in without discussing it with him first. Marge on the other hand, seemed to be feeling guilty over her own uncontrollable hospitality. To keep herself occupied, Marge was going all out in getting things prepared for the movie night and made sure that Bart, Lisa and Maggie all pitched in to help. They'd set out all of the extra pillows and blankets in the TV room, made fruit punch and set out plenty of snacks on the kitchen table.

It wasn't long before Cosette's car could be heard pulling up and sounds of kids yelling and fighting could be heard all the way from the driveway. Marge sighed warily as she always did whenever the Nealson kids visited.

The first to come through the door was Kirk, the second oldest. He was 21, tall and lanky with short, tousled brown hair. Initially, he came off as a bit snooty, standoffish and perhaps a little too polite for his own good, quite opposite of the rowdy and rambunctious kid he used to be. Consequently, he'd also came out as gay last year, something which his mother touted proudly at every opportunity as if he were on display as her own personal GLBT trophy.

Next in line was Jean Luc, the troublesome red-head. He was 16 now, the same age as Bart and the two had a lot in common personality wise.

The two youngest were Marco and Spencer, ages 10 and 8 respectively, though they appeared the same age. Marco, the one with the dirty-blond spiky hair sort of like Bart's, was a budding chef and loved to cook for the family. Spencer was slightly chubby with brown hair in a distinctive Beatles-esque stlye and a penchant for asking dumb questions.

Coming in behind them was Cosette and Cassie. It seemed that Kelly, the eldest hadn't come with them.

"No! I told you it's mine!" Marco yelled, trying to snatch a Spongebob thermos from Spencer's firm grip.

"But you said I could have it!" Spencer whined. The two struggled with the thermos for a while until their mother finally cut in.

"Shut the hell up! Both of you!" Cosette yelled, closing in on the two boys and yanking the thermos out of their hands. "We are guests in this house and you'd better keep your voices down before I crack both your skulls!" she took a sip from the thermos. "Hmph... I guess it's mine now," Cosette then stuck her tongue out at them triumphantly, seeming suddenly just as childish as they were. Bart laughed as the two boys gawked at her in disbelief.

"Now where is my little red-head?" said Marge as she entered the foyer from the living room to greet them.

"Right here Ma'am," Jean Luc answered, shyly stepping forward with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Oh my! He's not so little anymore is he?" Marge remarked with surprise as the tall, thin, ginger-haired sixteen year old stood before her. Luc remained silent, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"And oh my goodness! Marco and Spencer are growing like vines aren't they?" said Marge.

"Nice to see you Aunt Marge!" said Spencer quickly before snatching the Spongebob thermos that his mother had sat onto the table and running up the stairs with it, Marco ran close behind his heels.

"They sure have a lot of energy don't they?" asked Marge. Cosette laughed and nodded in agreement.

- o - o - o -

Sheer chaos ensued in the half hour before the movie started. The two youngest boys had covered every inch of the house, wreaking havoc and breaking nearly everything they came into contact with. Lisa and Cassie were off god knows where, while Bart, Kirk and Jean Luc gathered around the PlayStation, playing the latest shoot-em up game. Homer had finally dredged up from the basement, slipped quietly into the room and sat on the couch to watch the boys playing the video game. After a while, Cosette came in and shut off the game just as Bart was about to take the win. Talk about bad timing!

"Okay guys! Everyone! The movie is starting soon!" Cosette yelled. Bart remained seated on the couch next to Kirk, Luc and Homer, while Lisa and Cassie came into the room and sat on the floor, curling up in blankets as the lights dimmed and the movie began.

The movie was Psycho, the 1998 remake. Maggie came into the darkened room and climbed up into her father's lap, but no one really seemed to take notice of her as they were all too occupied by what was playing on the television. As soon as the creepy, nails-on-chalk music began, Maggie began to whine, clutching tightly onto her father's shirt and hiding her face against his chest. Marge came in, quickly snatching her up and taking her off to her room, pursing her lips tightly with disapproval that they were about to let her watch something that would surely give her nightmares!

Even though the movie was fairly recent, it was still dated enough to have it's share of moments too corny to be scary, which was entertaining in it's own way. The one great redeeming point was the lovely blond actress, Ann Heche whose piercing blue eyes and waifish figure hardly no man nor woman could resist. When it came to the scene where Bates watched the woman undress through a peephole, Bart, Luc and Kirk all let out a knowing snicker while the younger kids all watched on with confusion, the subsequent sound of a zipper sliding down and the lustful gasps from the creeper Bates flying completely over their innocent heads.

Bart must have been mature for his age, because even at the young age of ten, he understood the irony of the man's name being 'Mr. Bates.' Lisa however, rolled her eyes in disgust, muttering something along the lines of "...uh... men..."

When the infamous shower scene played, Marco and Spencer screamed, while Bart exploded into laughter at the classic and dreadfully ear-splitting music that used to frighten him years ago, noting that the knife hadn't any blood on it even after supposedly plunging into flesh several times. The woman's pupils weren't even properly dilated after she'd hit the floor as the deceased should be.

The movie came to an end near 11 o'clock that night and Homer had fallen asleep on the couch, slouched over and leaning on Kirk's shoulder who looked over at him disgustingly as he'd started to drool. Bart stood up and stretched his arms over his head. Soon the lights switched on and Homer snapped awake, muttering incoherently just as his father Abe would upon awakening.

"Okay! That was fun! We need to do this every week eh Homie?" Cosette said, giving Homer a playful shove as he stood up. "Now time for sleep! I'll go find Marge so we can sort out the sleeping arrangement."

"S-sleeping... arrangement?" Homer muttered in his sleep-drunken stupor. Apparently this was the first he'd heard mention that this was to be a sleep over. Bart yawned again before leaving and heading up the stairs to his room. Having the whole Nealson clan over was always fun while it lasted, but they did have the nasty habit of overstaying their welcome.

Once in his room, Bart stripped off his clothes, leaving on only his boxers and socks, and slipped under the covers of his bed. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the movie night they'd had, but today had been a long and trying day and now he was tired, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and drift off into nothingness.

- o - o - o -

Bart sat up in bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes as morning rays of sunlight shown through his window, the new day greeting him with its warmth. He got out of bed, slowly making his way to the bathroom down the hall before anyone else could get to it so he could take a shower in peace.

As soon as he'd gotten the water to just the right temperature, he pulled off his boxers and socks and stepped in, the nearly scalding water cascading over him. It was a refreshingly soothing way to wake up in the morning and he shook his head under the spraying water, making sure to drench himself fully and taking a moment to savor the invigorating heat and steam. He thought back to the movie and to the shower scene where the woman was brutally stabbed and laughed that the thought even occurred to him in the first place. He wasn't a little kid anymore and it was just a ridiculous movie, no need to even give it a second thought.

Though, what a terrifying experience it must be to actually be stabbed to death in a shower, the spray of water masking any sounds an intruder might make. The shower was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place to feel safe, yet it was also a place where one was completely exposed and vulnerable, naked and unaware of the dangers that may lurk in hiding.

Bart shivered at the thought, but dismissed it, lathering up a bit of shampoo in his hands and running it through his hair thoroughly then rinsing it out. It was then that he heard a sudden click of the door, causing his body to jolt with alarm. He sighed, trying to calm his nerves.

"Lisa... or whoever you are, I'm in the SHOWER! Get out!" Bart growled with annoyance, shaking the last bit of suds from his hair. His eyes were a little blurry from the water, but whoever it was, they didn't appear to be leaving as he could see a tall silhouette through the sheer shower curtain. His first thought was that it was Kirk, judging by the height. While Bart was no prude and his own nudity was something he felt no shame over, the thought that his own cousin, and a male at that, would want to get a peek at him naked was more than a little disturbing, especially after he'd told him to leave!

"Hey, what's your PROBLEM dude? I told you to get out!" Bart yelled a little louder than before, but the figure loomed ever closer, slowly inching towards the shower. If it really was Kirk, then he had no idea what a creep his cousin really was! He heard deep, quiet laughter emanating from the mysterious figure behind the curtain and it was only when the figure grew nearer that the distinctive bush of wild red hair cast it's eerie shadow across the curtain like a spider about to snag its prey!

Panic tore through him and he was too terrified to scream as the hand firmly gripped the curtains and flung it open revealing the deranged clown from his childhood, a cruel maniacal grin on his face as he wielded a huge butcher knife over Bart's panic stricken naked body.

Bart dropped to his knees in horror, thick steam casting an almost surreal softness to his vision as the man cackled above him. Bart instinctively grabbed the shower curtain, clutching it tightly in case he had to use it as a shield or even to wrap around his attacker to momentarily stun him. Bob leaned down, slowly bringing the tip of the knife to Bart's belly. Bart trembled with terror at the helplessness of the situation and his frantic heartbeat rang violently in his ears.

"Scream and you die quickly..." Bob said, in a low, gruff voice. "...and we wouldn't want that would we?" Bart heard himself let out an muffled shriek as the knife grazed his skin, burning hotly as the blade slid from his chest and down his stomach, leaving a shallow scratch. He'd never been more terrified in his life! His heart beat fiercely against his ribs with adrenalin, urging him to fight back, yet afraid that any sudden movement would provoke Bob further.

He looked up into Bob's cold eyes, searching, pleading for even the tiniest trace of sympathy, yet all he found was pure, raw hatred and malice, excitement even.

"Thine happy dagger... eager to penetrate such young, tender flesh," Bob spoke, his voice deep and sultry as if turned on by the thought. Without further hesitation, Bart felt the pressure of the blade, pressing, cutting, burrowing just below his navel, the blinding pain almost unbearable, driving in deeper. He cried out, hoping that someone would hear and come to his aid, but his throat suddenly became dry and hoarse, his voice no longer worked. Red water ran down, swirling into the shower drain, draining with it his life force. Bob pulled out the knife and prepared to stab him again and he knew the knife was piercing him again, but he couldn't feel it anymore as the world began to spin out of focus.

"Leaving so soon? Pity. I was so enjoying this..." He heard Bob's amused voice echoing hazily through the fog of his own dwindling consciousness. Likely the last voice he would ever hear so he savored every inflection of that haunting voice.

Suddenly, he felt his whole body jerk and for a moment, he wondered if he might actually be dead. He opened his eyes and looked up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom and realized that it had all been some horrible nightmare.

"Dammit Bob!" Bart slammed his fist hard against the mattress as the last bit of lingering adrenalin still buzzed through his veins and his head spun with fleeting terror. His chest hurt from the excitement of it all and he struggled to catch his breath. Of all things to dream of. He was too old to be having nightmares about Bob and he was way too old to let some lame horror film infiltrate his subconsciousness.

Why was it that just because Bob was back in town, he had to let the man invade every aspect of his life? It was getting ridiculous! Even unknowingly, Bob still had an influence on his life and he hated that there was no escape, for they were like gravity. Once binary stars, attracted to each other with near equal force, now it appeared that they were more like an atom: Bart, the charged electrons that exuberantly orbited a seemingly indifferent nucleus that was Bob.

He sat up and wiped his hand over his face to wake himself up and hopefully make some sense of everything. In the distance, he could hear kids running up and down the stairs playing and making an awful fuss in the middle of the night.

"SHUT UP!" He heard Luc yell from downstairs. Their family must be used to such chaos at night, but the Simpsons family normally stayed quiet at night for the most part. He could hear Homer's angry voice from his parents room, but he couldn't make out anything that was said.

Bart looked over at the clock on his bedside table, the red neon numbers indicating that it was 3:11 am. Conceding to the fact that there was likely no chance of him falling back asleep again for the rest of the night, he got up and booted on his computer. He hadn't been on the internet as often lately and couldn't help but to wonder what Milhouse was up to. Perhaps a quick check of his Facebook page would quench his curiosity.

Bart logged on and was shocked to see that Milhouse had de-friended him, though he could still see his page and lots of interaction with the new guy he'd seen him talking to in the parking lot. His name was Alberto and he was tall, had an award winning smile, rectangular glasses that made him look quite intellectual and his coal black hair was gelled back with a slight cow's lick in the front; certainly the coolest looking nerd he'd ever seen. Milhouse's replacement best friend no doubt. Bart gritted his teeth with jealousy the more he read. Why was Milhouse so mad at him that he'd willingly write him out of his life like that? Was he trying to teach him a lesson for neglecting their friendship? Perhaps trying to distance himself from Bart because of his paranoia-driven stalking of Sideshow Bob?

Come to think of it, maybe stalking Bob online would be a much safer option. The search bar taunted him, teased his curiosity until he could stand it no longer and just had to search the name Robert Underdunk Terwilliger. He fully expected the profile to be as mysterious as it's owner, but what he found was more than he'd expected to learn about his former knife wielding tormentor.

**Robert Underdunk Terwilliger**_ Studied at Yale University Lives in Springfield_

**Description: **_About me? Well, I could go on forever about how wonderful I am, but why bore you with such superfluous exposition?_

**Basic Info**

**Sex:** _Male_

**Interested in:** _Men and Women_

**Relationship Status:** _Divorced_

**Languages:** _English Italian French German_

**Political Views:** _Republican_

**Quote:** _Vile deeds like poison weeds bloom well in prison air, it is only what is good in man that withers there._

Wait, did he just read that correctly? Bob was interested in both men and women? Bart smirked. He should have known as Bob had set off his gaydar plenty of times. Of course, Bob had confirmed that much years ago when they'd met him in Italy and Homer mentioned to Bob that he'd always assumed that he was gay. Bob's rambling response was that he'd 'experimented' in college.

It also appeared that Bob had divorced his wife and by the looks of it, they weren't even in correspondence on Facebook. His interest piqued even further, Bart looked back at the time line and saw that Bob had left for Capital City, New York, then Las Vegas before finally returning to Springfield. Bart went on to read several of his most recent entries.

**- Only a couple of days of community service left and I'm finally free!**

_Cecil: Bravo brother! Excellent accomplishment to add to your resume._

_Bob: Do shut up dear brother._

_Snake: Congrats Bob, though this jailbird isn't so lucky. I got two more weeks to serve on mine._

_Bob: Ah, good luck with that. I feel for you old friend._

**- Trying to kick the smoking habit, but as soon as I put down the cigarettes, I pick up a cigar to compensate.**

_Krusty: donnt stop smokin on my acownt. my walls R alredy stayned with nicateen enyway._

_Bob: Thanks Krusty. Thanks for everything. Despite your abysmal spelling, I really owe you for giving this weathered drifter a place to stay. I am eternally grateful._

_Cecil: Aren't you two under the same roof? Why message on Facebook?_

_Bob: Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth._

_Cecil: How original. Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit._

_Bob: Really now, is that yet another quote from the illustrious Oscar Wilde?_

_Cecil: Yes._

So Bob was living with Krusty? Interesting. It seemed that their on again off again friendship was on the mend and maybe Krusty could keep him on the straight and narrow. Bart read on.

**- Met an old acquaintance, well enemy, in the park the other day. I'm hoping to bury the hatchet soon and start anew. After all, it's best to always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much.**

_Cecil: Might I know this 'old acquaintance'?_

_Bob: You might._

_Cecil: Ah. A man of mystery eh Bob?_

_Bob: Don't you have anything better to do than to stalk me on Facebook?_

_Cecil: Aw dear brother, don't you realize that your life is all I ever think about at any given moment? *sigh* I forget, the nuances of sarcasm tend to get lost over the internet._

Bart had the feeling that he knew who this 'old acquaintance' was, but it was a little disheartening the way Bob mentioned that he wanted to 'bury the hatchet'. He only hoped he had meant it figuratively.

**- I'll be playing the lead in Les Misérables this weekend. My part is the long suffering and unjustly persecuted prisoner 24601 of course.**

_Llewellyn: I can hardly wait Robert. Please tell me that your acting prowess has improved since last we met?_

_Bob: You're about as charming as a rattlesnake Llew._

_Cecil: Ah, community theater. The last refuge of the desperate. Couldn't cut it in on Broadway I take it?_

_Bob: I will ignore that comment._

_Cecil: You responded so you didn't really ignore it. ;)_

_Bob: I really should KILL you._

_Cecil: :)_

_Bob: :(_

_Cecil: ~heart~_

_Bob: -_-_

_Cecil: :D_

_Bob: STOP IT now!_

_Cecil: \^_^/_

_Apu: 0_o_

_Bob: Apu? What the-?_

_Apu: Sorry. All those emoticons. I couldn't resist!_

_Waylon: I look forward to the performance! Bob: Thank you Waylon. Be sure to bring Mr. Burns if you can. I look forward to conversing with like minded individuals._

_Waylon: Affirmative Mr. Valjean. ;)_

**- I am but a prisoner of my own dark fantasies.**

**Surrendering to my will, you fall to your knees.**

**Slipping from oppressed to oppressor so effortlessly.**

**Like a lamb, you come to me so willingly.**

**Shadows rustle in the night.**

**You cannot move, bound so tight.**

**Securely fastened are those ties that bind.**

**There is no escape, not that you would mind.**

**Terror builds in your heart, excitement in mine.**

**So righteously wicked, so sinfully divine.**

**When you awaken, sure that it's only a dream,**

**I laugh quietly at the memory of your scream.**

_Stella: Woah Bob! I had no idea you were into such kinky fetishes! :D_

_Bob: What? I was writing about the oppression of being shackled into a life of imprisonment. Just getting into character for my role as Jean Valjean!_

_Stella: Yeah, right._

Bart read back over the poem, that familiar wave of fear he'd had from his nightmare quickly returning. Bob definitely had a sadistic streak in him, there was no doubt in that. Even if his killer instincts had subsided, it appeared that there was still that part of him that needed to dominate and victimize. He surely got off on it. Bart shuttered at the thought that some of that rage had been inflicted upon him in the past.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - So anyway, here goes another chapter. I hope it was satisfactory! I'd also like to say thanks for all the reviews!<strong>


	8. Making Amends

**Chapter Eight: Making Amends**

As weeks past and it was nearing Christmas, things with the house guests began to deteriorate even more. They were no longer in the honeymoon phase and neither Cosette nor Cassie had found a job yet, not that they were putting much effort into looking, mind you with the internet and World of Warcraft taking up much of their time. Cosette's black cat Tiki had constantly been fighting with the Simpson's cat Snowball, but had secretly had a litter of three solid black kittens under the bed, Snowball being the likely father of them considering they only fought when she wasn't in heat. Bart, Lisa and Maggie had quickly claimed one each, Bart's being a male which he'd named Chance. On the downside, Cosette's big black lab that they kept chained up outside wouldn't let anyone whatsoever out into the backyard except for it's owners.

Marge had already had her hands full keeping up the house before they came, but things seemed even harder on her now with Cosette and her daughter always spending time around the house, leaving dirty dishes everywhere and completely trashing the place. Add to that, all of the urine stains that their chihuahua Anakin left everywhere, Marge had little to no free time for herself. Bart looked sorrowfully down at his mother resting on the couch in the living room with her hair wrapped in a pink and white polka dot scarf and a feather duster clutched against her chest. Perhaps he'd matured a little over the last few years, but Bart sometimes took it upon himself to help out around the house more, in secret of course. If his mom found out he'd been helping with house work, she'd surely expect it all the time and brag to all her friends about what a homemaker her little man was. He was having enough problems of his own as it was.

He was a couple inches shorter than average for his age, but he still had a few years of growing ahead of him so he didn't worry about that too much. His grades were suffering as well, mostly because he couldn't pay attention in class and everything was just so boring now that Milhouse was avoiding him, spending more time with his new friend Alberto.

Having just finished putting away the dishes, Bart decided to get out of the house for a while and stroll the streets of Springfield to clear his head. Lately he enjoyed taking a little time to stop and take in the scenery as it gave him time to reflect on things and maybe even to see things from a different perspective.

There was a slight chill to the air, his icy breath trailing behind him as he reached the commercial district. He walked along the sidewalk, passing rows of shops, not really caring his destination. He zipped his blue jacket a little higher and crossed his arms for a little added warmth as he continued on his way. The streets weren't all too crowded since most people were probably tucked away inside to get away from the biting cold.

Then, before he knew what had hit him, he found himself crashing into something, or someone, his face flat against soft fabric of some sort. This person, clearly a man by his deep voiced gasp, held onto his shoulders steadily, keeping him upright.

"So sorry sir, I didn't..." the stranger's words fell silent as surprised recognition set in for the both of them. It was Bob. "Hello... Bart," said Bob awkwardly, the familiar and usual greeting coming off more haltingly than usual, probably from the shock of the impact. "Fancy bumping into you again... quite literally in this case," Bob chuckled, hands still holding Bart steady despite his no longer needing the support. It was the first he'd seen of Bob in nearly two months.

"Bob," Bart greeted him curtly upon regaining his composure. He swallowed and took a step back, pulling free from Bob's dangerously graceful fingertips. He wondered briefly whether Bob's heart was pounding as fast as his was. Really, what was happening to him? Surely it was just the sense of danger he always felt when he was near Bob. The man was clearly attractive, anyone could see that, but maybe he shouldn't dwell on that too much, especially with the man staring back at him questioningly, clearly just as stunned as he was. Perhaps that was his cue to leave.

"So... are you aimlessly wandering or wondering aimlessly?" Bob laughed in that charming way that was second nature to him.

"Uh... say what?" Bart asked, caught off guard at the friendly nature with which Bob spoke to him. He turned back to see Bob standing there leaning against the streetlight, his arms crossed over his chest and his breath visibly frosty in the cold winter air. Was Bob actually trying to chat him up like they were old pals? After all the crap he had put him through?

"Funny... I never took you as the contemplative type. You were clearly distracted as you crashed straight into me," Bob said irritably, though with a slight smug smirk tugging at his mouth. Bart was unsure what to make of it.

"Yeah... ADHD can do that sometimes. It's easy to loose focus... to let the mind wander," Bart said, his mind beginning to wander even as he spoke.

"Ah, but not all those who wander are lost," said Bob sagely, ever the philosopher.

"Look, Sideshow Bob..." said Bart, tauntingly emphasizing Bob's stage name. "I don't know why you're back in town or why you just happen to be walking on the same street as myself when any sane person would be bundled in the warmth of their homes."

"Oh that's rich. Any sane person would indeed be inside, though... dear Bart... by insulting me, you inadvertently just insulted yourself," Bob moved his hands as he spoke as if to punctuate his words, quite the feminine habit, it was no wonder why people so often made assumptions over the man's inclinations, if one was to believe in stereotypes, that is.

"As I was saying..." Bart continued, choosing to ignore his own psychoanalysis of Bob for the moment. "I don't know why you're here or if you were following me or whatever the hell you're trying to pull, but I really have nothing to say to you so let's just cut the small talk and agree that the past is the past."

"Why whatever do you mean Bart?" asked Bob innocently, stepping away from the streetlight he'd been leaning on and moving slightly closer. To anyone else the action could be deemed hospitable, friendly even, but Bart just didn't trust the guy and he wasn't sure if he ever could. Some small part of him would likely always be suspicious of him. "I rather enjoy reflecting on the past... learning from my mistakes." said Bob at length.

"Your mistakes? What like the way you failed to kill me?" asked Bart, his voice rising with anger. "The way you failed to tear me to shreds and and drink my blood from a wineglass as you sit and think of all the things to do with my remains? Want to make sure you get it right next time huh?" yelled Bart, staring Bob squarely in the eye, unafraid.

"Don't give me any ideas," Bob smirked.

"You know what Bob? I hate you! I hate your stupid smirk and that ridiculous hair do and your creepy comments that rarely make any sense, but most of all, I hate the way you go around quoting literature and using big words just to make yourself seem intelligent and witty... and charming."

"Really? You think I'm charming?" asked Bob, clearly flattered as his fingers splayed across his chest in a 'who me?' sort of gesture.

"Dammit! I was trying to insult you, you narcissistic freak! Ack... never mind. Just... ugh you're so infuriating," Bart's voice rose embarrassingly in pitch, as if advertising his ongoing puberty. Bart shook his head with irritation. He didn't even know why he was wasting his time talking to the man, but some part of him needed to confront the phantom from his past, maybe even learn more about him.

"Sensitive one aren't you?" Bob teased.

"I have more than enough reason to be don't you think? What, with the way I was tormented by you years ago." said Bart. With that, Bob took on a more somber, reflective expression.

"Obsession... can be a dangerous thing Bart..." said Bob darkly, a hand reaching out for Bart, though clenching into a fist at the last moment as if he were holding back some urge to grab a hold of the boy, maybe even run his fingers though his spiky hair. Bart's heart hammered with that familiar frenzy of excitement and fear as Bob lowered his clenched fist, continuing to speak.

"It can make a man do things he never even imagined he would do, completely derelict of logic," said Bob, those cold green eyes seemingly boring into his very soul. Is that what Bob had been? Obsessed? Of course he had been. Anyone that secretly stalks a ten year old boy, plastering pictures of him all over his room had to be obsessed and a little bit insane! If the intense, predatory look in his eyes were any indication, he still was a little.

"Obsession? Is that what you call it?" asked Bart, finally snapping out of the spell that Bob's eyes and voice had cast. "You know Bob, I saw that room of yours once." Bart ventured, giving him a sideways glance, not wanting to look into those dangerous eyes for any extended length of time.

"Room?" asked Bob, some of his former intensity replaced with curiosity.

"You know, when you moved into the house next door, all those pictures of me covering every inch of your bedroom walls all riddled with knives and daggers? Don't even get me started on the voodoo doll of me with the noose around the neck!" Bart shivered at the thought of just how depraved Bob must have been, hiding in the shadows and taking all those pictures of him while he was completely unaware.

"And you call me the stalker?" yelled Bob suddenly, causing Bart to jump. "You just admitted to sneaking into my room all those years ago and now you've been spying on me from the bushes for the past couple of months! Seriously Bart! You thought I didn't know? Look who's calling the kettle black, Jack!" Bob held both of his hands out to the side, palms displayed in anger and disbelief. Bart was at a loss for words. So Bob knew the whole time that he'd been watching him?

"The saying, 'know thy enemy' comes to mind," said Bart after a moment.

"Said the great Sun Tzu. No truer words could be spoken," said Bob, relaxing somewhat from his former rant.

"Sun who?" asked Bart puzzled. Bob laughed, quite eager to impress his intelligence on others whenever possible.

"Sun Tzu, the ancient Chinese philosopher and war strategist. Quite ingenious really," said Bob. "Oh, and by the way, I wasn't following you... not this time anyway. Stalking someone is no longer my forte; though, the same can't be said for you," said Bob, haughtily.

"Hmm... says the one who secretly took hundreds of photo's of me. Had I known I would have mooned the camera," said Bart unabashedly.

"Like I've already stated, stalking is no longer on my agenda; though, if you had mooned the camera, it wouldn't have made much of a difference as I wouldn't have been able to differentiate your face from your rear," said Bob. Bart bit back a grin at that, finding it difficult not to laugh at a good insulting comeback, especially one so crass coming from Bob.

"Good one..." said Bart, laughing heartily despite the fact that he wasn't supposed to be friendly with Bob or show him anything that even remotely resembled friendship. "I might just have to use that line someday, though I'd change the word rear to ass," Bob lowered his gaze, grinning slightly before glancing back up at him warmly through thick lashes. His heart sped up a few beats at how unknowingly attractive Bob was, or perhaps Bob knew exactly how attractive he was. Of course he did. That still didn't change the fact that Bart didn't trust him, nor did like that snooty, 'better-than-thou' attitude.

"Well, I sincerely hope that this will be a turning point in our... rivalry?" Bob raised an eyebrow, testing the word as if to see if it fit. He then straightened his dark blue, smartly tailored coat and took a moment to tighten his scarf before turning to leave.

"Take care Bart," said Bob, swatting him on the arm, a slight smile on his face as turned and left. Bart watched as Bob stuffed his hands into his pockets, the image of him growing smaller the further he went until he turned the corner out of Bart's line of sight.

"Yeah... take care Bob," said Bart quietly to no one. With that, Bart continued on his way, destination unknown as he mulled over what had just happened. Maybe Bob really had turned over a new leaf, but how long would it last this time?

Before he knew it, he'd gone as far as the bridge. He stepped onto it and looked out over the water, seeing the power plant and the whole of Springfield in the distance. Just standing there brought back memories of when he and Milhouse used to stand in that very spot and spit over the ledge, watching and marveling at the long drop before it hit the water. Such simple childhood pleasures to reflect on, but surely one would die from a fall like that. It made him wonder morosely just how many people had in fact fallen to their deaths on that very bridge, maybe even in that very spot and the thought made him shiver uncomfortably.

Two months was just too long and he really missed Milhouse, there was no denying it; so he made his mind up, then and there, that he would do everything he could to mend their broken friendship. He wasn't even completely sure what Milhouse was so miffed about in the first place since the guy was acting about as moody and mysterious as a jealous girlfriend. Though, now that he thought back, he could think of nearly a dozen reasons why Milhouse might be angry at him, all of them little things that Milhouse had always put up with before. Had something changed?

The sudden rumbling of a car caught his attention as it slowed down behind him. An instinctual wave of panic coursed through him for a moment until he recognized the car as Nelson's old beat up red Camaro.

"Hey what'cha doin' there Simpson? Not planning on jumpin' are ya?" Nelson asked, grinning. His voice was deep, gruff and very much adult, but the familiarity of it was calming. Bart walked over, placing his hands on the windowsill of the car, peering in.

"Hey man, what's up?" Bart asked, happy to see his old friend. He and Nelson had been spending a lot more time together in Milhouse's absence, their friendship sort of filling in the emptiness.

"Nothing much, just cruisin', bored as hell," Nelson smirked. "Get in."

"Why?" Bart asked.

"Just do it," ordered Nelson bluntly. Bart laughed and got into the car with him, thankful to be taken out of the contemplative funk he'd been in moments earlier.

Bart idly watched his friend as he drove; his black leather studded vest and his ripped jeans really suited him. Nelson was nineteen now; three years older than Bart and much taller. He had grown into quiet a good looking, rugged, athletic young man, but for the most part, he was still the same old Nelson, albeit a bit more mature, his voice considerably deeper. While still maintaining his select few friends, he'd become a bit of a loner over the years so Bart felt quite privileged to be let into his exclusive world.

"What are you starin' at Simpson?" Nelson' eyes flitted to him briefly, his brows furrowed with what looked like irritation though he always did have that default, pissed-off look to begin with. Being slightly embarrassed at having been caught staring, Bart quickly averted his eyes, thinking up a quick retort.

"Nothin' much. Still trying to figure it out," Bart smirked. Nelson snorted with amusement.

"So what's really up with you and Milhouse anyway?" Nelson asked out of the blue. Now that he thought about it, it seemed sort of odd that Nelson hadn't brought up the subject before, though the fact that he didn't mention Milhouse when everyone else had been hounding him with prying questions was one of the reasons he liked hanging out with Nelson in the first place.

"Milhouse?" Bart repeated.

"You heard me," Nelson's voice was calm and level, but persistent. "And don't give me any bull. I want to hear the straight shit on what actually happened."

"So, I guess people have been talking huh?" asked Bart sheepishly.

"People do little else," Nelson replied.

" Well, I... I'm... not sure really what happened. It's complicated," Bart answered somewhat honestly.

"Well I think it's a cryin' shame for the two of you to break up like that," Nelson said, scratching the slight five o'clock shadow that had accumulated along his jaw.

"Break up? You of all people know it's nothing like that! He was my best friend and always had been! He was the Spock to my Kirk like we were bound together by fate... and... dammit, it's totally not as gay as it sounds!" said Bart a little more urgently than he'd meant to.

"Hey, just chill would you?" Nelson laughed as they pulled up to the stop light. "I just meant that you've been friends forever. You need him back so you don't have to hang around me all the time."

"Jeez man, way to be subtle!" said Bart, slightly joking, yet slightly hurt at the same time. "If you wanted me gone all you had to do was say so and I would have totally bailed!"

"Nah... You're okay," Nelson quickly assured him, keeping his eyes on the road as the light turned green. "Don't get me wrong Simpson, I like you an all, but Milhouse is different. Friendships like that only come along once. You shouldn't blow it," Nelson lifted his hand from the wheel to scratch his nose, an endearing nervous habit of his whenever he was being truly genuine about something.

"Yeah. I know," Bart added after a long while. He thought about going on to tell him more, maybe even get a little insight from his straightforward, no nonsense style of wisdom, but he stayed silent. He could save it for another day.

"So where are we headed?" asked Bart curiously.

"Don't know. Where ever the wind takes us?" Nelson smiled, eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

They ended up going to the Krusty Burger and grabbing a bite to eat like they had done occasionally over the last few months. They ordered a couple of cheese burgers at the drive through and ate in the parking lot sitting in Nelson's car. It was a funny habit that Nelson had, eating in his car, but Bart never questioned it and besides, it was sort of fun just sitting there, jammin' to music and just goofing off. Bart had told Nelson about the latest antics of his house guests, about how he had to lock his room when Cosette's kids came to visit, which was damn near every weekend. Nelson for the most part, stayed silent and listened, rarely talking about his own problems which made Bart feel sort of guilty about his own rambling after a while.

"But enough of my bitching and complaining. What's going on with you? How's life treatin' ya?" Bart asked, drumming his fingers on the dashboard as NIN's 'Meet Your Master' blared from the CD player. Nelson took a smoke from his cigarette and slowly exhaled, courteously blowing the smoke out the window as he mulled over Bart's question for a moment.

"Eh," he shrugged, "life's a bitch so that's why people bitch about it. As for me, I'd rather just listen.," said Nelson as he rhythmically tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the music. "Makes me feel better about my own crappy life."

"Really? I know I must be boring the hell out of you," said Bart. Nelson waved his hand dismissively.

"It's nothin'. Hearing others problems makes me feel better about the shit I have to deal with everyday. Besides, I'd just smack you one real good if you get too annoying ya midget," Nelson smirked, smacking his shoulder lightly with the back of his hand as if to push home the point.

"Hey, you do know that that term is a little derogatory these days?" Bart said in mock anger and disgust. "We're called little people." said Bart jokingly.

"Eh... I live for controversy. A little incendiary name calling really stirs up the political correctness debate don't you think?" Nelson stated. His rare displays of intellect were something that came as a surprise to the unsuspecting, yet there was more to the brute in ripped clothing that many people simply glossed over. They were like two of a kind, Bart and he; like two geodes, rough and unpolished, often crude on the outside, yet containing many redeeming facets within.

"You know, I could snap you like a twig if I wanted to Simpson. With my bare hands," Nelson grinned, "using only my pinky," he added for good measure.

"But you wouldn't do that... you like me way too much," Bart reminded him. Nelson looked away, a smile tugging his lips as he started the car and prepared to leave.

"Now let's get out of here. This is getting way too gay for me," said Nelson as they pulled out of the restaurant parking lot and headed down the road. He felt some sort of affection for Nelson, but he wouldn't exactly call it a crush. Perhaps admiration, or maybe the thrill that someone as cool as Nelson actually liked him now as opposed to the bully/victim relationship they'd had in the past.

The car came to a stop directly in front of Milhouse's place. Bart gulped.

"Okay, get out," stated Nelson bluntly.

"Nelson..." Bart whined, looking over to Milhouse's front door reluctantly.

"Go on, go in there and make up with your boyfriend. I'll wait in the car, but make it snappy would you?" said Nelson.

"I told you, he's not my... ugh... never mind," said Bart, shaking his head. "I just don't know about this. He might be busy."

"I will get out and personally drag you to the door if I have to now stop being a dick!" Nelson yelled, giving Bart's shoulder a firm shove and slamming him against the door. Bart sighed in defeat.

"Fine," Bart got out of the car and ran his hands through his hair nervously. He really did mean to sort out the whole ugly mess with Milhouse eventually, but he hadn't expected to have to do it so soon; though, he knew Nelson was right. Better now than never. He walked up to the door and knocked, noting how odd it felt to actually be knocking on Milhouse's door when normally he'd just walk right in.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - I hope that the BBC's Sherlock fans out there will appreciate Nelson's little Sherlockian quote. Thanks for reading.<strong>


	9. Complications

**Chapter Nine: Complications**

He looked back to the car, seeing Nelson staring back at him threateningly as he smacked his fist against his hand loudly. Bart gave him a halfhearted smile before knocking again. Soon after, shuffling could be heard on the other side of the door before it finally opened and he stood face to face with Milhouse, the blue haired boy's eyes growing wide with what looked like panic for a fleeting second. Before Bart could get out a single word, he suddenly found the door slamming in his face with a deafening crack. He stood there, his mouth still opened like he was about to speak and he felt a sudden flash of anger at the cold reception.

"Milhouse, open the door! I just want to talk to you!" Bart yelled in vain, still there was no answer. "Come on! This is getting ridiculous! I'll stand out here all day if I have to!" he waited a moment for any response, but was again met by silence. "What do you want me to do, get down on my knees and beg?"

"That would be a start," said Milhouse, finally opening the door.

"Can I come in? I won't be long..." he paused. "I just wanted to see you," said Bart, slightly embarrassed at how pleading he sounded towards the end.

"I guess," Milhouse stepped aside rather reluctantly to let him in. They stepped into the living room and Bart saw what looked like books and papers scattered all around the coffee table like he was working on his homework, and lots of it.

"Algebra?" Bart flipped through one of the books briefly before tossing it back to the table. "Man, is this what you do all day when I'm not around?" Bart teased, flopping down onto the couch just like he always had. Milhouse looked less than pleased, picking up the book and placing it back neatly on the table where he'd had it. Bart figured that if he acted like everything was cool, then everything eventually would be.

"It's called homework and don't you have some to do yourself?" asked Milhouse.

"Nah... I finished my algebra homework during history and my history homework during homeroom. That's how it's done son! That's how you do homework!" Bart laughed, kicking his heels up onto the coffee table and comfortably leaning back against the soft plushness of the Van Houten's lavender couch.

"Well some of us would rather pay attention during class so that when we get home we can finish our homework quickly and actually understand it," Milhouse pushed his glasses further up his nose in a rather intellectual way.

"Since when?" Bart scoffed at the idea. Milhouse really was turning into more of a nerd that he ever was. Didn't he even save time for fun anymore?

"Since I started getting better grades and actually caring about my future as opposed to goofing off with you all the time," said Milhouse with conviction, a certain forcefulness to his voice.

"Hey, we used to be tight man... what happened to you?" Bart asked, gawking at his friend as he stood there, his fists clenched with anger. He was unable to scoot around the issue any longer.

"Nothing's happened to me Bart," Milhouse replied coldly. "You, on the other hand..."

"Okay then... let me rephrase that. What did I do wrong?" Bart asked.

"If you have to ask, then-" Milhouse remarked, but Bart cut him short.

"Cut the crap Milhouse, my last girlfriend used the same line all the time and if I hear it one more time..." Bart threatened. Milhouse curiously turned his back to Bart, but not before Bart caught the look of embarrassment on his face, his ears reddening by the second. Interesting thought Bart, raising an eyebrow. So Milhouse was easily embarrassed, so what? Though, he hadn't gotten embarrassed so easily before. Maybe Bart's use of the word 'girlfriend' in comparison to Milhouse had provoked this reaction when he hadn't really meant anything by it.

"Things have changed..." Milhouse said slowly.

"Meaning? What's changed?" Bart leaned forward, desperate to get to the bottom of the matter and feeling that he was so close.

"Well..." Milhouse paused, his back still turned. "Over the last few months, I've rearranged my schedule for you dozens of times only for you to cancel on me at the last minute. It's like I'm only a friend when it's convenient for you."

"Milhouse I..." Bart offered weakly, his words coming up short when he realized that he had nothing in his own defense. Milhouse was right, he just never really took the time to think about it from his friend's perspective since he'd never complained before. Though, Bart never really was the most considerate person to begin with, not really being good at sensing the needs of others.

"A guy can only take so much... I have responsibilities, pressures from my parents concerning my grades," Milhouse sighed, "Besides, I can't just be your lapdog for the rest of my life while you go out behaving recklessly without considering the effects it will have on others," Milhouse finished, finally turning from his spot and sitting on the lounge chair. Milhouse grabbed one of his books from the table and flipped it open, likely just pretending to read it.

"That's it? There's got to be more to it than that," said Bart calmly, echoing his train of thought. "You used to put up with my crap before so what's changed that now?"

"Well... there are other reasons. Like I said, things have changed. Can't we just leave it at that?" Milhouse stared intently at his book, his face reddening somewhat more than before which meant one of three things: he was hiding something, he was embarrassed about something or he was angry. Before Bart could say another word, the last person he wanted to see came waltzing in through the door.

"Yo, Milhouse, me and some of the guys went out to the Pizzaria Cheapo to grab a bite. Did you finish our homework?" asked Alberto, not even sparing Bart a passing glance.

"Uh, no not yet. Did you... by any chance... save me a slice?" asked Milhouse, a hopeful look on his face.

"Ooh... yeah, actually I did but..." Al, paused hesitantly, "I saw a hungry dog in the parking lot and I sort of gave it to him. Sorry."

"Oh that's fine. Poor dog. I wouldn't want it to starve..." Milhouse added sympathetically, though Bart wasn't fooled. He knew full well when one was being duped, but usually he was the one doing the duping. So Alberto was getting Milhouse to do his homework and not even saving him a slice of pizza? Even the worst of masters would throw their lapdog a bone every now and then. Al stood in the doorway, his eyes finally landing on Bart.

"And who might you be?" asked Al with feigned interest.

"I might be Bart Simpson. I've been in your class all semester," Bart offered dryly, slouching back against the couch.

"Oh right, Mr. funnyman," Al smiled, his perfect white teeth gleaming. He was dressed quite professionally for a teenager, wearing a blue sweater vest and expertly polished shoes. His jet black head of hair was fashioned similarly to Bart's yet with a slight cow's lick in the front. Al slicked his hair back with his fingers before moving towards Bart, extending a hand. Bart offered his hand only to pull it away at the last moment.

"Hey man, forget that! You got enough hair gel on those hands to make Justin Beiber green with envy!" Bart snickered, though Al seemed unfazed, smiling back at him and laughing.

"I've heard about you! You're a real riot you know!" said Al "Milhouse here talks about you quite a lot."

"Really?" Bart asked, sparking with interest.

"Yeah," said Al. "He told me all about the time you sold your soul to him for five bucks and how the two of you used to-"

"Now that's enough," Milhouse quickly interjected, jumping in front of Al. "We know all about the old days. No need to peruse down memory lane," Bart raised an eyebrow. So Milhouse had talked about him and quite a lot it seemed which appeared to be a fact that Milhouse wasn't keen on sharing. Though, despite that one glimmer of hope, he was beginning to feel somewhat like a third wheel.

"Well..." Bart began, "I guess I should leave then. I've got... homework," Bart added weakly. He knew he couldn't push Milhouse any further without annoying him and he certainly couldn't stay any longer with 'Mr. Rico Suave' there in the way, but at least he'd put the effort into mending things. At least he tried. Maybe that would win him a few brownie points with Milhouse. Bart stood and moved towards the front door to leave.

"But I thought you did all of your homework during school hours." Milhouse said, stopping him at the door. Bart unexpectedly felt a hand on his shoulder, but only so briefly that he could just as well have imagined it. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Milhouse standing behind him awkwardly. Without turning around, Bart spoke.

"I really am sorry Milhouse, but however bad I treated you... this guy seems ten times worse," said Bart, his voice low.

"Hmm..." Milhouse mumbled in response.

"Yeah well... maybe I can stop by sometime? Or... you can come by my place?" Bart suggested hopefully.

"Maybe," Milhouse replied noncommittally.

"Okay." Bart kept the conversation short, not wanting to draw it out any longer since it was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Without another word, he opened the door and left, letting it shut behind him. He shuffled his feet back to Nelson's car, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. He got into the car and sat down in the passenger's seat, a cold chill shivering up his spine at the frigid air.

"Hey man, you r-really sh-hould... get the heat fixed in his old rust bucket," Bart spoke shivering, the cold effectively blocking out most of the jealousy and contempt he felt over Al for the moment.

"It's not important. It runs don't it?" It took Nelson a couple of tries before the engine begrudgingly cranked, humming to life. "So how'd things go in there?"

"Yeah... not so good. Not so bad either," Bart shrugged, slouching down in his seat as the car left the curb in front of the Van Houten residence. "I think he's warming up to me. Everyone does eventually. You did," Bart added with a grin.

"Everyone? Phft... don't flatter yourself. I'm sure there's someone out there that hates you. What about that clown guy that used to chase you around, playing cat and mouse?"

"Oh you mean Bob?" asked Bart innocently as if Bob had been the last person on his mind instead of a constant point of interest.

"Yes Bob. Not easy to forget a guy like that, huh?" Nelson spared a glance at him briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "I've seen him around town lately."

"Yeah me too. I've ran into him once or twice," Bart added thoughtfully, remembering the two encounters he'd had with Bob since the man had returned, both of them quite civil save for the intensity he still saw in those eyes and Bob's haughty attitude, though he suspected that everyone Bob encountered received such treatment.

"Oh? My interest is piqued. Continue," urged Nelson.

"Oh it was nothing," said Bart, playing down his interest. "I just bumped into him a couple of times. He's still as annoying as ever, but I don't think he's out to kill me. Not anymore."

"How can you be so sure? I don't like that guy. He made it to number one on my shit list when he tried to mess with you," The hint of anger in Nelson's voice wasn't missed by him and Bart was a little surprised by that. Maybe Milhouse had felt the same protectiveness over him when he'd urged him to stay away from Bob. He was lucky to have two friends that actually cared so much.

"Really? Number one?" asked Bart amused. "Shouldn't that spot be reserved for someone more... deserving?"

"You defending Bob?" asked Nelson in disbelief.

"NO!" Bart asserted a little more loudly than he'd meant to. "No... I- I just meant..."

"What did you mean?" Nelson asked.

"I just don't think Bob is much of a threat anymore. I met him earlier today and-"

"You met Bob today?" Nelson interrupted. He looked over to Bart for a second, his eyes squinted with disapproval, maybe even concern.

"Yeah, we talked. As long as I don't get on his bad side again, I think I'm safe," said Bart, not wanting to seem like he was defending Bob in any way, seeing how much it riled up Nelson; though, as much as he wanted to think that Bob had changed he still couldn't be completely sure.

"So what if you do happen to get back on his bad side?" Nelson ventured after a moment.

"I... I guess it's back to witness protection for me?" Bart laughed weakly, seeing that his joke wasn't flying too well with Nelson.

"Hmph,well... it'll be your funeral. Don't say I didn't warn you," Nelson cautioned sternly as they turned the corner, nearing Bart's house on Evergreen Terrace. Once they arrived, Bart clicked off his seat belt and exited the car.

"Thanks for the ride man and... thanks for everything," Bart smiled, his hands resting on the door of Nelson's car for a moment before he took a step back.

"Don't mention it," Nelson replied, smiling back at him slightly before pulling out of the driveway and heading off.

Bart opened the front door and was unprepared for the complete and utter chaos that met him. Anakin had begun barking at him from the moment he entered and the cats, Snowball and Tiki, rushed out the front door fighting and hissing, clumps of fur littering the foyer where they had been fighting previously. Tiki was probably just trying to protect her newborn litter. There were also cat toys and cat food scattered all the way from the kitchen to the front door and as he passed Cosette on the computer in the living room embroiled in what looked to be a heated virtual battle, he noted that the cat food had been strewn all the way into the TV room as well. He entered the room, seeing Lisa and Maggie sitting on the couch, watching television.

"Hey, what's up with all the cat toys and food everywhere?" asked Bart, taking a seat next to Maggie, thankful than Anakin had finally decided to quiet down and stare at him menacingly from the doorway.

"Cassie brought home a load of cat toys," answered the eight year-old Maggie, her eyes still fixated on the mindless humor that played across the screen.

"Really? Looks like she bought out the whole pet shop." Bart mused, looking around the room and spotting at least five cat scratchers within immediate eye site along with numerous trinkets designed to occupy a cat's imagination.

"If you think that's bad," said Lisa, her eyes fixated on the TV like her younger sister. "You should see the back yard."

"Why?" asked Bart, almost afraid of the answer he would hear.

"It's a dog's palace out there." Lisa rolled her eyes.

"What? " Bart stood to his feet and peered out the back door where he saw several deep holes in the soil where Cosette's black lab Zelda had dug in the yard, along with a kiddie pool, a deflated air mattress, the remains of dozens of stuffed animals with cotton strewn in every direction, countless broken dishes of his mother's best china as well as the numerous piles of dog poop everywhere, the size of which he'd never even thought possible for even the largest of dogs.

"Aye Carumba! The carnage!" Bart laughed, being a little too shocked to be angry at the moment as he stood there, amazed at the sheer destruction. He really missed being able to go out into his back yard without it being a hop skip and a jump away from certain danger.

The way his mother so politely put it, 'Anyone could stand a few months of hell if it would help a soul in need, though with the way things were going, Bart wasn't so sure anymore. Those 'few months of hell' could easily turn into years at this rate. To make things worse, Cosette only applied for jobs that she new that she was grossly under-qualified for when previously, her only means of support had been welfare, child support, food stamps, stripping and mooching.

"Damn," Bart cursed out of disbelief. He suddenly felt something hit him squarely in the forehead and looked down to see that it had been a cheese ball.

"Fork it over," Maggie demanded, her hand outstretched in Bart's direction.

"What's her deal?" Bart asked, picking up the cheese ball from the floor, about to put it into his mouth yet deciding against it upon second glance at the disgusting state the carpet was in, dropping it back to the floor. Not that it made much of a difference anyway as the place was a complete and utter pigsty. Maggie pointed over to the jar next to the TV with the label 'swear jar'.

"What? I'm not paying you for saying damn!" Bart laughed, shaking his head.

"Now you owe me two quarters!" Maggie grinned.

"She's a budding entrepreneur Bart," Lisa smiled. "She's already gotten about ten bucks just today and by the looks of it, she'll be able to retire early at the rate she's going." Bart sighed in defeat, procuring two quarters from his pocket and dropping them into Maggie's jar.

"Maybe I should just go ahead and add five dollars. Maybe that'll tide me over for the rest of the day," he laughed. "Anyway, how could Cassie afford all of this?" Bart gestured towards all of the animal toys and junk that Cassie had filled the house with.

"Her grandfather gave her money for car insurance but I'm guessing they wasted it on all this crap. Though, you have to admit, that kitty carousel is kind of cute," said Lisa. Bart rolled his eyes upon seeing the little carousel in the corner of the room with the little pony ride seats.

"Aww... that is cute," Bart said, unable to help himself before realizing how girly he sounded. Lisa laughed.

"Well, Cosette's just never had to struggle on her own before. I guess it's all a little too overwhelming for her," said Lisa, keeping her voice low as Cosette was just in the next room on the computer. "To some people, just everyday survival is overwhelming."

"What's Cassie's excuse?" asked Bart, a slight smile on his face as he watched with amused interest at his younger sister's psychoanalysis of human behavior, an area she was quite talented in.

"Middle child syndrome?" Lisa suggested after some thought, "First there's the little ones that have the cuteness factor on their side. Then there's the tension that goes with always having to live up to her older sister who was always better at most things, thinner, smarter, more responsible, blond, flawless skin, all of which made her eat even more and pack on the extra pounds from the stress of it all."

"Is that the way you view me little sis?" Bart teased. "Because I'm pretty sure I fit all of the above in the afore mentioned specifications."

"Oh dream on Bart! I'm not in any way jealous of your golden locks and in this instance, it's the middle child that's the most smart and responsible sibling. "

""Eh... whatever helps you sleep at night," Bart conceded, waving a hand in her direction.

"Woo! That's how you kick some monster ass! Woohoo, yeah baby!" Cosette cheered from the other room suddenly, declaring virtual victory on some monster she'd defeated and almost falling off of the couch. Maggie got up from her seat, tucked her swear jar under her arm, and headed off to collect her dues; though she'd have little luck collecting any money from Cosette's empty coffurs.

"Well, one thing's for sure, things certainly are more..." Lisa paused, struggling for the appropriate word, "eventful since they've moved in,"

Bart laughed, nodding in agreement. Suddenly, Homer's thunderous yell from upstairs interrupted Bart before he could respond further.

"Marge? Have you seen my underwear?" Homer roared. Marge leaned into the doorway from the kitchen.

"Which one's?" Marge yelled in reply.

"Ugh... Never mind. I'll just find them later," Homer yelled back.

Marge rolled her eyes, growling with annoyance before slinking away back into the kitchen. Bart got up from the couch and followed after her to fetch himself a soda from the fridge. Once he'd gotten a can of lemon-lime soda, he sat down at the kitchen table and popped the tab.

He watched as his mother rinsed her hands quickly in the sink and commenced to taking the clean plates from the dish washer and placing them in the cabinet. She worked quite efficiently as she had her own little routine and Bart didn't know where or why this sudden righteous streak of his had emerged, but he felt the sudden urge to pitch in so he stood up from the table and took a few cups from the dishwasher and began placing them in the cabinet.

"Well!" his mother remarked. "So you're the dish washing bandit I see!"

"Hmm?" Bart hummed distractedly.

"Well, I woke up from my nap earlier today to see that the sink and dishwasher were completely empty and all the dishes were already cleaned!"

"Oh yeah, well I..." Bart began sheepishly.

"I had washed the dishes earlier and came back a few hours later only to find the kitchen full of dirty dishes again and I was almost at my wits end until you come in and..."

"It's okay mom, really," said Bart, blushing as his mother praised him and covered his face in kisses to which he tried to squirm away. "God mom! Quit it!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just surprised. You never helped out much before and I'm just really relieved, that's all honey," said Marge, stepping away to give him a little space. Bart wiped the kisses away from his face with the back of his arm.

"So, where did you go today after school anyway?" asked Marge as she got the carton of orange juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass before sitting down at the table and sighing with relief to be off of her feet.

"Oh, just went out for a walk. Met up with a few friends," Bart shrugged, placing a few more plates in the cabinet.

"In this weather? Bart I hope you wore some warm clothes and a thick coat!" Marge doted, a look of motherly concern on her face.

"Yes mother dearest... I wore a coat," Bart teased with undue formality.

"I don't mean to be prying, but did you meet up with anyone... interesting while you were out?" asked Marge. His pulse sped up a bit as he recalled his run-in with Bob on the sidewalk, but of course she wouldn't know about that, would she?

"Well... I did bump into someone on the sidewalk and we had a nice chat," said Bart as he pretended to be separating the forks and spoons just so he would have something to do with his hands.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Uh... Robert," Bart answered truthfully, not wanting to alarm his mother that he was actually referring to Sideshow Bob since he didn't know how she would react to that news. The man had tied her up on more than one occasion as well as the rest of the family and he didn't want to upset her if he didn't have to.

"Oh. A boy then. Bob is short for Robert isn't it?" Marge questioned further.

"Well... sort of," said Bart, curious as to why his mother was giving him the third degree with all the questioning. "And yeah... Rob, Bob, Robert... they're all interchangeable."

"Look, Bart... you know I've always tried to be supportive and if you ever have a 'special friend' that you think you have to keep a secret from me, just know that I'll understand and you can tell me. It might take your father a little while to come around, but-"

"Mom..." Bart interrupted, his eyes wide with disbelief; now, even she thought he was gay and he was not about to have this conversation with his mother. "Mom I'm not gay." Bart sighed, shaking his head. Just because he'd had a couple of unsavory thoughts and fantasies of guys which were of increasing frequency lately, didn't mean that he was quite ready to sink his anchor onto a different shore.

"Oh thank goodness," his mother sighed with relief.

"What? But I thought you said you'd be fine with it?" asked Bart curiously.

"Oh, well I would! I would! I just meant... I..." Marge paused hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable with the predicament she was in, but Bart was still curious as to how she would respond. "I'd try to be understanding and supportive since being gay can probably have it's own set of... complications I imagine."

"Hey Marge," greeted Homer upon entering the kitchen and plundering the fridge. "I couldn't find the underwear so I'm just going commando for now... and who's gay?" he asked, still bent down into the fridge, searching for something to eat.

"Me." said Bart impulsively with a mischievous grin as Homer banged his head in the fridge and yelped.

"What?" asked Homer, his eyes about as big as two saucers as he stared back at Bart. Truthfully, he just wanted to see Homer's reaction and it was well worth it. Bart walked over to his dad and patted him on the shoulder.

"Just kidding Homer," said Bart.

"Oh thank god," Homer sighed with relief just as his mother had. Bart rolled his eyes. As much as he liked messing with Homer's mind, it still seemed that his dad had a bit of lingering homophobia left in him, though he had lightened up on it considerably over the years.

"Hey Mom, what made you even think I was in the the first place?" asked Bart, a little nervously as he sat down at the table across from his mother and took a sip from his can of soda.

"Oh well, I didn't really mean to, but I sort of overheard something, but... it's nothing," said Marge.

"What did you hear?" asked Bart, struggling to keep the urgency out of his voice, looking up at his mother nonchalantly from behind his soda can.

"Well..." his mother began, "when I was in the kitchen a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but to overhear you on the phone. I mean, your voice is so loud that it has the tendency to carry through the whole house you know."

"Well? What else?" Bart prompted for her to continue, though he couldn't remember anything he'd said over the phone that could have provoked any such suspicion.

"I- I believe you were apologizing to Milhouse for something and you said that Bob wasn't your boyfriend... or something along those lines. I just sort of... put two and two together and I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions... it just sounded like..." her words trailed off. Thankfully his mother hadn't made the connection with Rob/Bob/Robert being Sideshow Bob.

"Give it up mom. I've been trying to get him to give in to the truth for years, but he doesn't want to admit that he has the hots for his little geeky friend," said Lisa, sitting down next to Bart and pinching his cheeks patronizingly.

"Oh shut up Lis," Bart slapped her hand away, though he knew she was only kidding. Though, now that he thought about it, he'd almost forgotten some of the details of his phone call with Milhouse and his conversation with his mom had jarred his memory. His friend's overtly jealous displays whenever he mentioned Bob's name, the avoidance, the frequent embarrassment were cause for suspicion and that's when the pieces suddenly and unexpectedly began falling into place. He'd always had his suspicions that Milhouse occasionally liked other boys, but the fact that Milhouse might just be harboring such feelings for him was a little too much to take in all at once. Though, what would be the consequences if his suspicions were wrong?"

Bart heard a small chime from his phone alerting him to a text so he pulled it out of his pocket, thankful to have the device back from his parents finally. His heart sank when he saw the name on the screen.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - Who's the text from? (even I'm not sure at the moment) Is it Bob? Is it Milhouse? Someone else maybe? Also, I hope the Bort fans won't mind a little BartMilhouse, maybe just a little. I hadn't planned it from the beginning, but the characters had other ideas. XD Bort will happen eventually.**


	10. A Dangerous Game

**Chapter Ten: A Dangerous Game**

_You want to do something tomorrow? -Milhouse_

The message floated out there somewhere in the limbo of the air waves, waiting for his reply. Of all the times to receive a message from Milhouse, this had to be the most awkward with his whole family sitting around speculating about certain sexual orientations he may or may not have. Finally swallowing back his own apprehension, Bart wrote him back.

_yeah sure. -Bart_

Lisa leaned over Bart's shoulder, trying to peer down at his phone until he shoved her away.

_Great. See you then. -Milhouse_

_Later. -Bart_

So that was it. Had they now fallen back into their friendship as if nothing had ever happened? Even so, there would now be this nagging suspicion that the one friend he'd known for what felt like forever, close as a brother even, might possibly have a secret attraction to him and it was quite unsettling. It was a suspicion that he couldn't ignore even if he wanted to.

The next day after school, Nelson had invited Bart over to his house so he saw no harm in bringing Milhouse along with him since Milhouse hadn't specified any plans in particular. Nelson's house wasn't much more than a dilapidated old shack in the bad part of town, but it had a certain rustic charm to it, to put things mildly. Nelson opened the door to greet them and the first thing they saw upon entering was Mrs. Muntz lying on the couch with a blanket around her.

"Is she alright?" asked Bart.

"Oh yeah. She's fine, just partied a little too hardy last night," said Nelson. Of course knowing Mrs. Muntz, that was no surprise. "I threw a blanket on her since this was one of her topless days," Bart and Milhouse both snickered. It was nothing seeing Mrs. Muntz walking around topless. At first, it had been unexpected and a little shocking years ago, but these days it was nothing new.

"Would you boys shut up? I'm trying to take a nap here!" growled Mrs. Muntz, fluffing the pillow under her head. Nelson leaned in near Bart and Milhouse, placing a hand on their shoulders and speaking in a low voice.

"I've got a present for you guys in the back room, come on."

"This present isn't going to hurt is it?" asked Bart warily, still worried that there might be one last lingering knuckle sandwich in store for them even though Nelson seemed to have renounced his bullying days.

"Just follow me," Nelson grinned. It was a grin that Bart didn't like too much, especially coming from Nelson as it used to involve pain.

"Shut up!" Nelson's mom yelled again to which he just laughed and ushered them along to his room.

"Okay. What's the big surprise Nelson?" asked Milhouse, a bit of apprehension in his voice as he wasn't as close of a friend to Nelson as Bart was. Nelson rummaged through his ratty wooden dresser and pulled out something that looked like a couple of black hoodies. Upon closer inspection, Bart read the word 'Hooters' with the classic orange owl logo printed across the front.

"Here you go. You like?" Nelson handed them each one.

"Yeah, these are cool! Thanks man!" said Bart, taking the hoodie and inspecting it.

"Yeah, they're cool alright," Milhouse exclaimed, "but I don't think I'll be able to wear it around my mom or at school."

"You two really... _really_ like them right?" asked Nelson to which they both nodded in unison. "Alright, that'll be five bucks then," Nelson snatched the hoodies back from them and held them out of reach.

"Hey!" Bart yelled in protest. "I thought you were giving them to us?"

"Yeah, well... My mom won them in a wet t-shirt contest and said that I could hand them out to friends since they didn't fit, but you didn't think I would just give them away did you? Besides, five bucks is dirt cheap!" Nelson reasoned.

Bart shared a glance with Milhouse for a moment, before giving in and shelling out the five bucks, handing it to Nelson. Milhouse did the same.

"Thank you. It was a pleasure doing business with you," Nelson handed the hoodies back to them, before going back to the dresser and pulling out a couple of white Hooters t-shirts. "Five more bucks and you can have these too."

"But shouldn't the t-shirts be a lot cheaper than the hoodies?" asked Milhouse hopefully.

"Yeah, I don't think I have another five bucks on me," said Bart, hoping to negotiate a cheaper price since there was nothing more cool at his age than the lure of something so taboo and adult. His mom would never let him buy a shirt like that and Lisa would think it was sexist, but he just knew his dad wouldn't mind and would probably be annoyed that they weren't in his size.

"Ugh... Fine. Four bucks you cheap skates," said Nelson.

"Three and we have a deal," Bart offered his hand to seal the deal. Nelson stared at him tentatively for a moment.

"Three it is then," Nelson relented, shaking Bart's hand. "Though the joke's on you. I haven't washed my hands in a week," Nelson smirked.

"Neither have I," Bart countered.

"Ew, you guys are pigs!" said Milhouse. Both of them handed over the payment which Nelson took in exchange for the shirts, handing them to Milhouse.

"An easy sixteen bucks," said Nelson, satisfied as he counted the money before pocketing it. Bart and Milhouse both thanked him.

"Don't mention it," Nelson replied. "Now I gotta go take a leak. I'll be right back."

"Don't forget to wash your hands," Milhouse called out as Nelson left the room, shuddering with disgust.

"Hey Milhouse could you hand me one of those shirts?" asked Bart, eager to try one on. Bart swiftly removed his own shirt and tossed it to the ground without a second thought. Bart waited, but Milhouse seemed to be a little distracted, his eyes slowly raking down over every inch of Bart's exposed skin. Saying that it felt a little strange to have his friend so blatantly ogling him would be an understatement. It just felt so wrong... so taboo. Which made it exciting right? Bart shook his head as if trying to shake out such a ridiculous notion.

"Huh?" asked Milhouse cluelessly after a moment.

"Give me that," Bart sighed, yanking the shirt out of his hand and quickly put it on. He then grabbed the hoodie and put it on as well since it was still a little chilly out side even with the arrival of Spring. This was going to be hard to get used to, Milhouse fawning over him like that, but hopefully it would be just a phase like everything else he became interested in.

"I-I think I'll... wear mine later," said Milhouse timidly. So now his best friend didn't want to change in front of him like he used to? Bart laughed quietly to himself. What, was he afraid that he wasn't in shape or something? Bart didn't care one way or another, Milhouse was just Milhouse; he wasn't supposed to be hot.

"You know I was just thinking, " said Nelson as he came back into the room. "that with those shirts, you dorks can really match just like a real couple," Nelson mocked.

"Get bent Nelson," Bart replied, hoping to move on swiftly from the comment for Milhouse's sake. "So now what? Got anything fun to do around here?"

"Eh. I got nothin'. I was hoping you guys would have some ideas," Nelson shrugged.

"Hey, why don't we go skating boarding?" Bart suggested, "I brought my board and I know you can skate Nelson."

"Sure. Yo Milhouse, you gonna need a board? I've got an extra," Nelson asked, picking up an old busted up board he had lying at the foot of his bed.

"No, that's okay, I'd rather just watch. Ice skating, rollerblading, skateboarding... doesn't matter which," Milhouse sighed. "I'd just fall on my face either way."

Somehow, Bart guessed that Milhouse wouldn't be too keen on skateboarding, but he still wanted to include him anyway. Maybe later they could find something that they would all enjoy. He just hoped that he wouldn't fall back into the old habit of neglecting Milhouse's needs too much like he always had before. He didn't like it when Milhouse hated him.

Bart and Nelson had found a rather secluded area of the park where they wouldn't get in the way and hopefully, wouldn't get into much trouble as they skated. Nelson had improved a lot over the years, but he wasn't quite as good as Bart at keeping his balance. Milhouse sat on the bench, watching from the sidelines, even after Bart had urged him to give it a go on his board.

"So guess what. Cassie finally got a job and it's at a local pet shop," Bart jumped the board, flipping it beneath his feet on the concrete path a couple of times.

"Oh really? That's great! So will they be moving out soon?" asked Milhouse from the bench.

"I hope so. My parents are about to lose it man. I mean, Homer... he's about to go insane having to share all his snacks and whenever Cosette's little brats come over, they cook and eat nearly everything in the house," Bart complained, flipping the board successfully one more time beneath his feet before stopping to rest one foot onto the ground. He was really starting to worry about the strain that the moochers were having on his parent's marriage; though he doubted anything serious would come of it. Surely the moochers would be moving out soon now that at least one of them had a job; it was just a matter of time.

"Man... letting someone move in has never worked out for your family has it?" Milhouse questioned. "First there was Gill, then Otto, then the college nerds that Homer invited to stay..."

"Hey didn't Sideshow Bob stay at your house once too?" asked Nelson, rocking his board beneath his feet.

"Ugh... don't remind me," Bart laughed. That was certainly a time that he would never forget; especially after Bob sneaked into his room at night right before he was about to go to sleep and taped his mouth shut, preparing to do god knows what to him and only changing his mind at the last minute. Such primal rage in those eyes, full of blood lust and plans of murder as he wielded a knife over the vulnerable ten year old, only to find that he couldn't go through with it. Something in him wouldn't allow that to happen. Bob just couldn't kill him.

Bart looked towards the bench that Milhouse was sitting on, suddenly realizing that it was the very one that Bob had been sitting on last fall when Bart had been spying on him from behind the trees. Strange, how long ago that seemed and just how deep he had let his paranoia control him.

The next few weeks went as well as could be expected. There were several awkward moments such as Milhouse reacting whenever their fingers brushed together accidentally, simple things like that, but for the most part things hadn't changed too dramatically, much to Bart's relief. Bart greatly missed the days long ago when Milhouse had a crush on his sister Lisa or even Samantha Stanky despite how jealous Bart had been of their relationship at the time, but this was like a new world; a new bizarro world that he had come to know as his reality. It was a reality where his best friend was attracted to him, his house had become a pigsty for the down-trodden, and he was the stalker as opposed to Bob; though fortunately he'd taken to the web for all of his stalking needs rather than physically following Bob around. Thank god for social media websites.

Christmas and New Year's had come and gone, everyone had exchanged cheap crappy gifts that would inevitably be re-gifted next year and the new school semester had begun, but unfortunately, it seemed that Bart and Milhouse were taking less classes together than ever before, especially now that they were taking separate elective classes. While Milhouse went the creative arts route with band and drama, Bart went with wood-shop and typing, wood-shop since he had a knack for building things and typing only because he knew he could ace it.

One class that had become quite more entertaining than he had expected was his history class, more precisely, his teacher Mr. Greg Dullman. He was a rather thin and pale man with sharp features, glasses and short black hair that was slightly graying on the sides. He was impeccably dressed, always wearing a suit and tie.

At first glance the man seemed rather calm and boring, but one only had to look close to see that he was a ticking time bomb with his unusual, eccentric behavior and volatile personality. One minute he would be the pinnacle of calm, then the next, he'd be all fidgety and on the brink of a nervous breakdown, lashing out at the first student that dared even look at him the wrong way.

Mr. Dullman was also a very obsessive compulsive individual. Things on his desk were never to be touched, moved or even breathed on. He never shook hands, he had to chew his food twenty five times and he also didn't tolerate note passing or cell phones in his class as Bart would learn first hand that day.

"So ladies and germs, I expect you to take full artistic license with your projects... videos, reenactments, written projects, music... anything that shows what life was like for our soldiers, confederate, union or both," Wendell raises his hand which Mr. Dullman acknowledges with a nod his way.

"What does artistic license mean?" asked Wendell, Bart's constantly nauseous classmate he'd known since grade school, his question provoking several amused snickers from the class. Bart could hear Milhouse's distinctive nasally laugh and looked up, a couple of rows ahead.

"It just means to be creative with the subject material Wendell," Mr. Dullman sighed with annoyance before moving to write something on the board, muttering to himself. "They don't pay me enough to watch these little..."

Alberto appeared to have just finished writing a note and was urging Milhouse to pass it over to someone on the other side of the classroom. He had been passing notes all week long much to the teacher's displeasure and half of the time Milhouse was the one getting in trouble for it since he was a little less than discreet when it came to note passing. Once the teacher turned away, Al stealthily passed the folded note to Milhouse, flashing one of his signature gleaming smiles.

Bart watched with casual interest as Milhouse fumbled with the note and dropped it to the floor in the middle of the aisle. The teacher's attentive ears must have caught on to their little game because as soon as Milhouse bent down to pick it up, Mr. Dullman already had his shoe stamped down firmly onto the note. Milhouse slowly looked back up to the teacher's smirking face.

"Well, Mr. Van Houten. That's what... the fifth time today I've caught you in the act?" the teacher asked, the note still firmly in place under his foot. Milhouse sat back up in his seat and looked over to Al pleadingly, however Al just shrugged, unwilling to take the wrap; though, Bart couldn't blame him. As bad as it sounded, Bart had often done just that, letting Milhouse take the wrap for his own misdeeds; though, watching it objectively from afar and as an observer made it seem far worse.

"I guess that means you'll be spending detention with me, watching me grade papers. How exciting hmm?" Mr. Dullman bent down and picked up the note, stashing it in his pocket before turning on his heel and walking back up to the front of the room to his desk.

"Yeah... exciting," sighed Milhouse in defeat, slouching down in his chair. Al smiled at him appreciatively and reached over to give Milhouse a playful shove before looking back at Bart. His expression was unreadable, but he wore the same gleaming grin that he'd given Milhouse and it was just sickening. Bart looked away and began taking notes from the board just to get his mind off of Al. He had an instant dislike for the guy ever since he'd first seen him with Milhouse and what he just saw made him dislike the guy even more. It felt like the Samantha Stanky incident all over again though at least she was somewhat likeable and less manipulative.

Even though Bart and Milhouse were now back on good terms, Al seemed to be taking up a lot of Milhouse's time, but that was probably just because they were rehearsing for a play. Bart had stayed after school one Friday to watch one of the rehearsals and of course, Al had the lead role playing the part of Danny Zucco in the school's production of 'Grease' while the twins Sherry and Terry shared the role as the leading lady, which broke out into a cat fight over which girl would be fortunate enough to do the kissing scenes with Al. Milhouse played the part of the sidekick Kenickie and his acting skills had improved somewhat, but he was still far from winning an Oscar.

Things around the Simpson household were growing even more stressful and tumultuous as the weeks passed. Even with Cassie's new job at the pet shop, her and her mother seemed no where near being ready to move out soon since instead of saving for an apartment, they blew all of their money as fast as it was made buying junk that they didn't even need. Homer spent more and more time in the basement where he'd set up his own 'man cave' of sorts, away from all the chaos. Down there, he had his own TV and stash of snacks and it seemed like his own slice of heaven on earth. That is, until someone had to do the laundry.

Bart sat next to his dad on the couch, both watching a college basket ball game on ESPN, when down came Cassie with a basket full of dirty laundry.

"Don't mind me, just doing the laundry," said Cassie, to which neither of them paid her any mind.

"So, who do you think is gonna win?" asked Bart.

"Ah, I don't care," said Homer, mindlessly munching on a bag of chips as he watched the TV. "I don't really like either team, I'm just watching it to lessen the effects of Super Bowl withdrawal."

Bart laughed. He heard Cassie struggling with the dryer and looked back to she that she'd cleaned the lint, but now she couldn't get the filter back in and was trying to force it. Suddenly, as if this had set off some 'super mom' alarm, Marge came rushing down the steps and quickly grabbed the lint filter away from Cassie in a dramatic fashion.

"No no NO! You never force it! You'll break it!" yelled Marge. She looked down at the lint trap in her hand to see that it already appeared ripped and all bent out of shape. Marge sighed. "Cassie... I hate to say this but... I'm going to have to make the washer and dryer off limits from now on. There's a laundromat down the corner. We can't afford to keep buying things after they break."

"Oh that's fine. I don't mind if it's broken. I'll just stick it back in and it'll work fine," said Cassie, attempting to take the broken lint trap from Marge's hands. Bart could see the anger in his mother's eyes, being quite familiar with it himself.

"No it won't!" said Marge sharply. Homer watched with interest, dropping a potato chip from his mouth upon hearing the harshness in Marge's voice. "It's already broken and it's not fine and I actually DO mind since it's my machine! You and your mother are constantly breaking everything and I'm tired of you taking my clothes out before they're even done, leaving them dripping wet, just to do your own laundry!" Marge yelled, her fists clenched with anger that had been building up for months.

"I'm sorry Aunt Marge," said Cassie. "It really was an accident, but you use the machine more than anyone else so if it is broken..." Cassie's sentence trailed off insinuatingly. Marge took a deep breath, all too accustomed to Cassie's brand of 'poor me' and 'nothing's ever my fault' mentality.

"Be that as it may... now I will have to go out and buy a replacement lint trap and money doesn't just grow on trees you know," said Marge, giving one of her annoyed/disapproving growls.

"My point exactly, which is why I can't afford going to the laundromat so I'll just finish my clothes here and-"

"I said no! It's my damn washing machine and this is my house! I tried being the nice and gracious host, but things are getting way out of hand! Now you're just going to have to make do with my rules while your under my roof!" Marge glared at her silently for a moment before Cassie finally got the hint and left the room, leaving her laundry in the basket on the floor.

"Way to go Mom; you really kicked some ass!" Bart cheered once Cassie was out of earshot.

"Yeah! I didn't know you had it in you." said Homer with surprise.

"Well... It IS my damn washing machine." Marge muttered quietly, throwing the broken lint trap into the garbage. "I've been wanting to say that for months! It feels so good... yet so wrong at the same time. I just hate yelling at people, especially our guests." said Marge, biting one of her nails apprehensively. "I think I'll do her laundry for her to make up for it... just this once."

"Don't sweat it Marge." said Homer, grabbing his bag of chips and resuming his gorging. "They stopped being our guests months ago, now they're just a nuisance."

"Hey mom!" said Lisa, bounding down the steps and into the basement. "I just opened this letter from our ISP! They're cutting off our internet because of illegal downloading activity!"

"What?" Both Homer and Bart yelled. How could they survive without the internet? It had become such a big part of their lives that Bart was already beginning to feel the withdrawal symptoms setting in just like Homer had when the Super Bowl had ended.

"It say's that someone's been downloading CSI Miami and that this was the final warning! Any further illegal activity could result in a $2000 fine!" Lisa shouted.

Everyone knew that Cassie and Cosette were both as obsessed with Horatio Caine as Selma and Patty were with MacGyver so they were the obvious suspects of the illegal downloading. Marge sighed disappointingly, snatching the letter from Lisa's hands and stomping up the stairs with it.

"Cosette! We have a little problem here!" yelled Marge as she exited the basement.

So for the time being, Bart and the rest of the household would have to use public Wi-Fi since all of their neighbor's internet networks seemed to be securely blocked. Bart had even tried to trick Flanders into reducing his network security in hopes that he could break into his connection, but he had no such luck as Ned's wife Edna, who Bart still preferred to call Ms. Krabapple, had overheard and had put a stop to Bart's scheme.

So for the next two weeks, Bart had settled on various Wi-Fi hotspots for all his computing needs until he found a nice coffee shop in the mall that was quiet, out of the way, and much cheaper than Starbucks. He ordered a mocha frappé, having grown a liking to the frosty beverage, and sat down at a table in the back where he had a nice view of the whole place. It was only his third visit to the coffee shop, but he was starting to like the peaceful atmosphere and even being amongst all of the intellectuals that hung out there. It made him feel smart.

Bart took his laptop out of his backpack, placed it on the table and booted it up. It was a rather crappy hand me down he'd gotten from Milhouse's mother for fifty bucks last year, but it wasn't bad for the price. It took a while to load so Bart took a sip of his drink from the straw. He listened to the sounds of the mall bustling in the distance and of the customers taking their orders, until a familiar voice caught his attention, one with a distinct Shakesperian lilt. A cultured, not quite American, not quite British accent.

"I'll have a Cappuccino please, thank you," said Bob. Bart's head whipped around to the direction of the voice, but Bob was no where to be seen. He had just been at the counter ordering, where had he run off to? Bart turned back around and was shocked when he saw Bob staring back at him from the seat across from him, his coffee mug on the table.

"Bob! What the hell are you doing here?" Bart yelled loudly, holding a hand to his chest as he struggled to catch his breath from the sudden shock. Several patrons sitting at the surrounding tables were staring at them, but Bart couldn't care less at the moment.

"Mind if I take this seat?" asked Bob innocently.

"Jesus Chr-" Bart took a deep breath before speaking again. "Just... give me a second would you?"

"Of course," said Bob, picking up his mug and drinking from it, his eyes never leaving Bart. Bart closed his laptop and stared back at Bob irritated, yet on the inside feeling curious and extremely tense under that gaze, just as he always had. "Unfortunately for you, I can't stay long," said Bob at length.

"What are you even _doing_ here?" asked Bart, his heart still racing as Bob stared back at him dangerously, wearing the usual smirk. He was like a predatory animal, barely even blinking.

"Bart," Bob's voice lingered on his name as he leaned engagingly towards him, "I can understand the hostility you bear towards me, with me trying to _kill_ you and all, but really. What are you, seventeen now?" asked Bob. Bart nodded, his birthday being on April 1st which wasn't long ago. "All I want to do is to just... bury the hatchet." Bob chuckled slightly as Bart leaned further away from him, the smug smirk on his face becoming even more annoying. The man was infuriating, yet at the same time, inexplicably fascinating.

Bob was enjoying this. Even after all those years, he still drew some sadistic pleasure from reminding Bart of his sick fascination in terrorizing him. It was in stark contrast to Bob's otherwise fairly sane and normal behavior. When Bart didn't say anything, Bob sat back, relaxing in his chair.

"All joking aside, I see no reason why we must continue this game of ours. Despite how... _thrilling_ it may be, it really is... exhausting and it could ultimately lead to dangerous circumstances."

"I'm glad to know it's thrilling for you as well Bob." said Bart sarcastically as he broke their strained eye contact; however deep down, he knew that there was a bit of truth that resonated within, that despite the danger, there was this element of excitement to the strange cat and mouse game of theirs. They were practically Itchy and Scratchy personified.

"Of course you too find it thrilling," Bob spoke, looking down to his coffee and running one finger along the rim hypnotically. "You're an adrenalin junky just as I am; though, you get off more from the masochistic end of the spectrum I'd wager," Bob smirked, his voice low enough that it didn't travel too far. Bart opened his mouth to speak, but Bob cut him off.

"I simply can't stay any longer Bart," Bob smiled, loosing some of his former intensity. "Who knows what I'd do to you if I stayed any longer," he whispered, as he leaned forward to stand, placing a hand firmly on Bart's shoulder. Bart felt warning signals rushing all over his body from Bob's warm breath on his ear, warning him of impending danger, or maybe reminding him of the more primal urges his body so shamelessly demanded against his own better judgment.

Bart swallowed and took a deep breath as Bob finally withdrew his hand and left, his cappuccino barely touched at all and sitting there as a reminder of Bob's presence. Bart quickly finished off his own drink and took Bob's, sharing germs being the least of his concern at the moment as Bob's voice still rang through his thoughts and straight to his groin. Either Bob was intentionally playing mind games with him, or the man was seriously depraved; likely both. One thing he could deny no longer was the feelings of pure attraction he had for the man and he hated it. He hated the reactions just his voice could have on his unfortunately tumultuous and unforgiving hormones.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - Just to clarify, Marge really isn't Cassie's aunt in this story, she just calls her that, but I believe she's more like a distant cousin somewhere along the Bouvier family line.<strong>

**And about the coffee shop, me personally I just like just black coffee with a little sugar. I know nothing of the world of frappe mocha or whatever it is, but with every chapter comes a little research.**


	11. Lapse of Consciousness

**Chapter Eleven: Lapse of Consciousness**

He didn't think he would like watching the drama class's rehearsals, but it wasn't half as bad as he'd expected. The best parts were when the actors messed up or flubbed their lines which Milhouse had been doing a lot of whenever Bart had come to watch him. Perhaps out of some form of performance anxiety? Al, on the other hand, hadn't messed up once and it sickened him how all the girls fawned over him when they really had no idea that he was such a jerk.

Though, sitting there in the auditorium gave him a lot of time to think and the one thing that he simply couldn't get off his mind was Bob from the coffee shop a couple of days earlier. His voice, those intense eyes; everything about his body language that day just exuded sex whether he'd meant it to or not. And when Bob had stood to leave, whispering to him words that sounded so threatening, yet so delightfully vague that they could have meant anything that he imagined them to mean. And he'd done a lot of imagining.

Once rehearsals were over and Bart had succeeded in shaking off most of his Bob-centric thoughts, he went back stage to try and find Milhouse. He would have liked to razz him about his abysmal performance, but he figured he'd give the guy a break since he'd probably be embarrassed enough on opening night. He looked around back stage, passing several greasers and girls in 50's costume on the way, but Milhouse wasn't among them. That's when he stopped in front of one of the dressing room doors that was slightly cracked open and he could hear what sounded like Milhouse's nasally giggling from inside so he peeked in, opening the door a little wider.

"Milhouse there you..." his words fell short when he saw that Milhouse wasn't alone, but sitting on a bench with Al, the two of them quickly pulling away from each other, but not before Bart got an eyeful of what was going on.

"You were kissing him," said Bart bluntly, a little numb to the emotions that were beginning to trickle in: repulsion, anger, amusement, disbelief and finally... jealousy. Was it really jealousy he felt or just anger? He didn't have much time to analyze it at the moment. Milhouse zipped his leather jacket up a little higher and straightened his glasses.

"Uh... no I wasn't," Milhouse denied pathetically. Bart looked at the two of them all red faced and flustered, still dressed in their greaser costumes and it was rather amusing once the initial confusion had passed. Though, he hated Al's guts for the most part, the look of shock and embarrassment on Milhouse's face was priceless.

"Yes you were! You two were totally making out!" said Bart a little more loudly this time, unable to hide the knowing smirk on his face. "And by the looks of it, you'd be doing even more if I hadn't shown up."

"No we weren't!" Milhouse yelled, looking away from Bart, his face still beat red. "And even if we were it's none of your concern!"

"Hey, I don't have a problem with it," Bart shrugged, even though some part of him did considering the current level of animosity he felt for Al. "If you're into guys, that's fine, but..." Bart paused, unable to hide the amused smirk before he continued. "I just didn't think that Danny and Kenickie were an item," Milhouse gave him a nasty look, rolling his eyes before standing up and placing a hand on Bart's shoulder.

"Bart you have to keep this a secret. Al's dad is a really scary dude I'm telling you man. He's already caught us together and..." Milhouse swallowed, the fear apparent on his face and suddenly the situation wasn't quite as amusing as it had been before. "If he finds out I'm still seeing Al... he'll kill me..." Milhouse all but whispered the last part.

Still seeing? As in dating? Bart fidgeted uncomfortably at the thought, feeling that same nauseating, gnawing feeling he'd felt when Samantha had inadvertently threatened to take Milhouse away from him. Bart took a deep, steadying breath, steeling himself. So Milhouse was afraid of Al's dad? It wasn't all that unusual for a father to be a little upset to find out that his son has an affinity for other boys, surely Bart knew his own dad wouldn't be too thrilled with it. Is that what Al was to Milhouse then? His boyfriend? The thought churned his stomach and left him with a queasy feeling that he couldn't begin to explain.

"Hey Milhouse..." Bart began, his attention suddenly drawn to what appeared to be a fresh gash on the side of Milhouse's head, right along the temple. He moved closer to inspect it. "What is this?" Bart asked concerned. He brushed away a stray strand of hair from the scar which didn't look bad enough to require stitches, but had considerable bruising. Milhouse flinched away from his touch, turning his head so that the scar was out of view. Bart gritted his teeth as his anger began building. If Al had laid so much as a finger on Milhouse, he was quite ready to rip the guy to shreds.

"Did he do this?" Bart asked in a low, angered voice, gesturing towards Al. "Look at me," Bart ordered, but Milhouse continued looking deceptively to the floor.

"No... Al didn't do it. It was... an accident. That's all," Milhouse muttered, finally looking up to meet his eyes. "I mean, you've seen me out there on stage. I'm very accident prone if you haven't noticed," Milhouse adjusted his glasses, but something in his body language just wasn't very convincing. His attention turned to Al, still sitting on the bench, watching from the sidelines.

"You... you son of a..." Bart addressed him, deeming him unworthy of a proper name, yet unable to thing of a name vile enough. "You think you're pretty slick don't you, picking an easy target to be your next play thing?" Bart sneered, walking past Milhouse and over to Al. Al stood up as if he thought the couple of inches of height he had over Bart would intimidate him in some way. Bart remained defiant, unwavering.

"You think I'm going to listen to anything you have to say? Whether I hurt him or not is irrelevant. He's mine now and I'll do whatever I want to him. Though, for the record, I didn't hurt him," Al added as an afterthought.

"Is that what you do? Go around looking for the ones easiest to manipulate... to bend to your will? Guys that are already pathetically unsure of themselves and of their sexuality?" asked Bart, looking him steadily in the eye; the disgust he felt for him had never been stronger.

"Hey, I'm right here! You're talking about me like I'm not even in the room!" squawked Milhouse.

"Look I don't have time for this. I like Milhouse," said Al, unable to maintain eye contact which was a small triumph for Bart. Al continued speaking, his eyes closed. "And honestly, I think he likes being the submissive one, being led around by somebody... being manipulated and easily bendable to my will. I suppose I should thank you. You trained him well,"

"What? Trained him...?" Bart asked, confused. His gaze landed on Milhouse for a moment.

"I have to go. I don't have time to waste here with you," said Al, his shoulder jostling into Bart's, knocking him a little off balance as he passed him and left the room. Milhouse held Bart's arm to steady him.

"Wait! I'm not done with you...!" yelled Bart as Al left the room. "Trained? Who did he think he was talking to?"

"Just forget it Bart. I know you don't like Al but..." Milhouse paused, the red tinge deepening across his face. "This is just something I have to try. I have to... I can't explain it. Al really isn't as bad as you think and he... reminds me of you... a lot actually," Milhouse admitted, embarrassed.

"He reminds you... of me?" asked Bart, this time it was his turn to blush and he silently cursed himself as well as Milhouse for it.

"Yeah. I have to see if... if these feelings I have for y-" Milhouse stopped abruptly, "for someone... are real and not just imagined since I wouldn't want to ruin something amazing with someone I care about. Al makes a good stand in for that,"

"Wait, you mean...?" Bart swallowed. He was fairly certain that Milhouse had a small attraction to him, but this was almost a blatant confession! His mind is swimming with the implications of what this all meant and it almost felt like they were walking precariously on a tightrope over a deep canyon, the wind blowing relentlessly as they struggled to keep balance.

"Don't over-analyze it Bart. I probably shouldn't have even said anything. Just forget it," Milhouse looked away, likely put off by the way Bart was staring at him like he'd just grown another set of arms. Milhouse picked up his bookbag and made a hasty retreat, leaving Bart there feeling completely lost. He took a deep breath. This thing with Milhouse was getting really complicated and he wasn't sure what to do about the situation. The last thing he wanted was to 'ruin something amazing'; i.e., their friendship.

- o - o - o -

When Bart got home from school that day he felt more confused and exhausted than he had his entire life. He went straight up to his room, took off his jacket and threw it on the floor before throwing himself onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He was glad he hadn't run into anyone on the way to his room, because he just didn't feel like dealing with anyone at the moment. First Bob swoops in and turns his life all topsy-turvy, then Milhouse had to come along and add his own complications. He was at a tug-o-war between both forces that were threatening to tear him apart and all he wanted was to get away from the world for a little while. He was tempted to head over to Nelson's, Jimbo's or even Kearney's and totally raiding the liquor cabinet and getting himself totally smashed just to numb himself from having to deal with it all. It would be all too easy.

He stayed quiet for most of the evening and hated the way his mother and the rest of the family kept giving him concerned looks all throughout dinner as he slouched in his seat, poking at his mashed potatoes, but not really eating anything.

"What's wrong Bart? Something on your mind?" asked Marge. Bart shrugged in response.

"Nothing. Just a hard day at school. I'll be okay," He answered tiredly.

"Mmm... well alright," said Marge uncomfortably. "But your making me feel guilty not eating anything when I'm sitting here enjoying dinner."

"Just means there's more for me!" said Homer cheerfully, eying Bart's plate hungrily. Bart passed his plate over to his dad and got up from the table.

"Homer..." Marge scolded disapprovingly. Bart looked around to see Homer pigging out, while his sisters and mom all stared back at him with concerned faces. Honestly, he'd sort of preferred Homer's indifference more than their sorrowful faces staring at him like he was a puppy that had been kicked and tossed out into the rain.

"I'm fine really! God, you all don't have to look at me like that! It's not like I'm turning all emo and cutting my wrists or drinking or anything! I just had a stressful day is all!" Bart stated exasperatedly. "I'll be fine, I just need a little time alone," with that, Bart turned and left to go back to his room. He really would be fine after a while, he just needed some space. He needed his own private sanctuary somewhere far far away, only he didn't know quite where he would find such a place like that. Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz sang of such a place, but he highly doubted in it's existence; he laughed at the thought.

- o - o - o -

So he once again found himself back on his bed staring up at the ceiling, occasionally looking out of the window as the sun began to set and trying to sort out how he was going to deal with everything; with Milhouse and Bob and the sick love triangle he'd suddenly found himself trapped in. It was then that Lisa, the wisest of them all, walked in and sat at the foot of his bed.

"Alright Bart, what's going on?" Lisa leaned over him, pinning his wrists against his sides to prevent his escape, likely anticipating that getting a straight answer out of him would be like pulling teeth. She was surprisingly stronger than he'd realized.

"Lisa I don't want to talk about it... It's too personal," he said, turning his head to look out the window.

"Don't make me tickle you Bart. We both know that you'll brake and tell me everything eventually so lets just save the hassle now and get the truth out in the open," said Lisa. "You'll feel better." He stared at her a while, his resolve breaking just like she said it would and for once, he was just too tired to fight.

"I think Milhouse is in love with me," Bart stated bluntly, surprising even himself.

"What?" Lisa asked, her eyes widening with shock and disbelief.

"Yeah," Bart replied, completely understanding the level of disbelief she was feeling. He didn't even understand it himself. "You guys made so many jokes about us all these years that I guess he started believing them," Bart joked weakly.

"Wow," Lisa stated simply, apparently the news came quite unexpected for her. "I mean, I always suspected something, but I was mostly kidding! Are you sure?"

"Look Lis... don't make a big deal about this and don't go around telling  
>everyone. It's embarrassing enough with just me knowing about it," Bart pulled out of Lisa's loosened grip and turned over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow to hide his embarrassment. He wasn't about to tell her about his twisted and totally insane attraction to Bob, so she'd just have to settle for half of the story for now.<p>

"Wow, that little... I can't believe he actually had the courage to... to... what did he do exactly? Did he kiss you?" Lisa asked a little too enthusiastically. Bart groaned with annoyance, his voice muffled into the pillow. It was bad enough hearing Lisa and her little friends gossiping about kissing boys and junk, but now to have such gossip directed at him was just too humiliating. He turned his head, looking in Lisa's direction, but avoiding her eyes.

"No Lisa, he didn't. I would have either knocked him out cold or died right there on the spot if he'd tried something like that! I'm NOT gay for Milhouse Lisa!"

"Jeez... you don't have to yell it from the rooftops Bart. I believe you," Lisa snickered. He just knew she was thinking that his denial was a little over the top and even he winced as he heard himself yelling it. He'd heard enough of her psycho-babble over the years to know that over-denial is often quite telling. Just then he heard someone coming up the steps and a sudden knock on his door.

"Hey Bart," said Homer, peeking his head into the room. "Milhouse is here... he told me to ask if he can come up to your room," Bart's eyes grew wide. He was the last person that Bart wanted to see right now. "I don't know why he doesn't just come up to your room like he normally does..." Homer muttered, waiting for Bart's answer. Bart caught Lisa staring at him with an annoying grin and he threw his pillow at her before she could even say a word.

"Shut up!" Bart said, irritated that she was getting so much amusement from his predicament.

"Okay... I'm just gonna go send him up," said Homer shooting them a confused look before walking off.

"Don't you dare say anything!" Bart threatened her, sitting up on the bed, straightening his shirt and smoothing his hair with his hands.

"Don't worry, you look fine Bart," Lisa teased. Bart shot her an evil look as she walked out and passed Milhouse in the doorway. "I'll just leave you two alone for some, male bonding time," Lisa smiled.

"Shut the door," said Bart once she had left, wincing at how suggestive that sounded. "What do you want?" Bart spat a little more venomously than he felt. It amused him though to see that Milhouse was wearing the black Hooters jacket that Nelson had sold to him.

"Well..." Milhouse began, swallowing and looking down to his hands nervously. Bart sighed with did Milhouse have the habit of showing up at the wrong place at the wrong time?

"You were right about Al..." Milhouse began, speaking hesitantly.

"What?" asked Bart.

"I guess I really was fooling myself to think that he was anything like you... when he really is just... a pale imitation of the real thing," said Milhouse, finally looking up to meet his eyes. Bart was really starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Bart... I... I know this is confusing... but I do know one thing and you're probably going to think I'm completely daft for saying this... and I probably am risking everything but..." Bart swallowed around the lump that was building in his throat, anticipating what was about to come, but even he couldn't foresee what Milhouse was about to do. He suddenly froze as Milhouse stepped closer, placed a hand gently on his chest and pressed his lips softly against his. Bart gasped for air and for a moment he just sat there, letting himself be kissed by his best friend. Some part of his mind urged him to just sit back and enjoy it, the other part felt totally repulsed, feeling almost incestuous as Milhouse's tongue slipped into his mouth and he felt himself being pushed down onto his back.

Even as the guilt threatened to drown him, he became lost in the sensations, of the slick wetness of Milhouse's mouth, the moan that he was shocked had even come from himself. How did someone like Milhouse ever acquire such talent? He had to put a stop to it, he had to push Milhouse away, yet all he could do was thread his fingers into the boy's hair and relish in the feel of that tongue skimming over his, almost as if battling for dominance. It wasn't until he felt Milhouse moving to straddle him that he finally felt the strength to resist. He firmly gripped a handful of Milhouse's hair and pushed him away. He gasped for air for a moment before he could speak, his heart speeding at what felt like a hundred miles per hour.

"Milhouse what... what is... wrong with you?" Bart breathed heavily, his face hot and flushed as was his entire body.

"Well..." Milhouse panted, still leaning slightly over Bart and swiping his hand through his own hair nervously. "A moment ago, you seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was."

"Like hell I was!" Bart yelled, knowing that he wasn't fooling anyone yet he still felt he had to deny it. He shoved Milhouse off of him and onto the floor, but at the moment, Bart didn't care. He was too shocked, appalled and disturbingly turned-on by what had transpired to even think straight. It was only natural right? Just a response to the stimuli he convinced himself.

"Get out..." Bart muttered under his breath.

"Bart I'm sorry..." Milhouse apologized, but Bart would hear none of it. He was so furious, mostly at himself for even reacting and actively encouraging such behavior that he wasn't ready for. That he would likely never be ready for with Milhouse.

"Just get out! Get out of my room! Get out of my house! Get out of my LIFE!" Bart yelled, flipping himself onto his stomach on the bed so that he wouldn't have to face him. He knew it sounded harsh, but he just didn't care at the moment.

"Fine... I won't... bother you anymore. I'm sorry," said Milhouse in a weak little voice. Bart felt a little pang of guilt, but it wasn't enough to stop him from calling Milhouse back when he heard him scrambling to get up off the floor to leave. Only after he finally did leave did the guilt and the unsettling emotions begin to get to him. He felt his eyes begin to water but he forced down the tears. He wasn't about to let himself cry over something like that. Even if he did just loose his friend after finally winning him back.

He suddenly felt like if he stayed in that room for much longer that he would suffocate. After a sufficient amount of time to make sure that Milhouse was gone, he picked up his jacket, the Hooters jacket just like Milhouse's and quickly put it on as he rushed down the stairs and out the front door. The need for some fresh air was almost overpowering. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and set off down the sidewalk to clear his mind, yet all the while his mind stubbornly conjured images of Milhouse's mouth against his, of himself being pressed down onto the bed, completely taking his breath away. He shook his head and kept on walking.

He didn't stop until he got to Nelson's house, letting himself in and thankful to see that no one was there. Mrs. Muntz appeared to be out, but he could hear loud snoring coming from Nelson's room. He helped himself to the unguarded liquor cabinet and left a twenty dollar bill in the cabinet out of courtesy since he knew the Muntz' weren't rich by the long shot. He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel's and sat on the sofa, taking a large sip from it. The taste was strong and almost too overpowering since he usually only drank beer and that was just occasionally. It burned hotly down his throat but not enough that he couldn't handle it. After about an hour of angry/exhausted sulking and over half a bottle of Jack, Bart could hear footsteps approaching outside. Soon, Mrs. Muntz came through the door and Bart quickly hid the bottle behind the sofa.

She had a man that Bart didn't recognize with her and they were wrapped up in a passionate kiss that disgustingly reminded him of the one he was trying to forget with Milhouse. He sighed and stood up, finding his legs to be a little wobbly as he struggled to gain his balance. Even in his inebriated state, he could tell that Mrs. Muntz would want some privacy with her new playmate so Bart quietly showed himself out the door without Mrs. Muntz even paying him any mind.

He walked a little ways, finding it difficult to even go very far with out almost falling over. He looked up into the sky which was now turning dark with just a tint of sunlight in the horizon and he tried to focus on the few stars that were already out, but he found the task difficult as each one of them seemed double and out of focus. After making it a couple of blocks down the street, he blinked really hard as he stopped and held onto one of the street lights to prevent himself from falling over.

He leaned against the pole to rest for a minute. He blinked and rubbed his eyes again as he saw a shady figure about two houses down illuminated in the orange glow of the streetlights. They appeared to be dragging what looked like a large black bag down the driveway. He recognized the house to be that of his teacher, Mr. Dullman's and he gasped upon closer inspection when he realized that the shadowy figure was in fact, his teacher. Mr. Dullman hoisted the bag up and grunted as he threw it into the boot of the black sedan. He always knew something was a bit off about his teacher, but this was not what he would have ever suspected in a million years!

"Oh my... God... dude... is that a... dead body?" Bart muttered to himself, suddenly regretting just how much he'd had to drink that night. Bart quickly flipped the hood of his black jacket over his head in case he was suddenly seen and he tried to dash off into the alley so that he could get to a safer vantage point, but he seemed to have no control over his motor skills and tripped over his own two feet, landing into someone's front yard with a loud thud and a grunt. He couldn't believe just how bad his luck had turned in that moment as he heard the man's voice yelling out.

"Hey kid! What do you think you're doing?" Mr. Dullman shouted. Bart scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could and nearly tripped again when he heard the boot of the car slam shut and Mr. Dullman's car squealing tires as he hightailed it out of there.

But try as he might, Bart simply couldn't stay on his feet in his drunken state and he simply succumbed to gravity, falling onto his face. He gripped onto the grass desperately with his fingers willing himself to get up when he heard the car coming back, nearing him. Most likely the man wanted to get a better look at the person who had witnessed his dirty deed... perhaps even to kill him so that there would be no witnesses. He was just thankful that he'd had the foresight to flip his hood up over his head to hide his face. Hopefully, the man had forgotten the day that he and Milhouse had worn the jackets to school and gotten in trouble for it, but he knew he would have no such luck as the man remembered everything since he had a freaking eidetic memory, or whatever he called it.

He felt guilty and wished that if he were to die right then, the last words he'd spoken to his best friend hadn't be so harsh. The words, "Get out of my life." replayed in his thoughts as he felt himself loosing consciousness there on the side of the road. His last thought was, oddly enough, that Bob would never be able to claim his life and it was a small victory, but it was all he had to cling onto as the world went black.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - Don't give up Bart. Milhouse will probably get over it... eventually. We're only partway through the fic and there's still some unexplored Bort tension left in this fic! Come on man! Fight! ~sigh~ He's not waking up... Sorry I tried my best. Maybe someone else will have better luck waking him. Maybe Bob has a couple of ideas. Hey Bob? That pesky Simpson boy is out there on the roadside all vulnerable and helpless. You want to do something about it?<strong>

**Sorry that this seems a little Bart/Milhouse centric at the moment, I assure you that Bort will still be the main focus. Though, I suppose I should add a Bart/Milhouse warning at the beginning... Man, it's hard to write warnings and summaries at the start of a fic since I'm never really sure what's going to happen until I get there to write it. I've got a brief outline, but often things branch out into unexpected directions. Sort of like real life I suppose.**

**Also, as an added note, I'd like to thank all the reviewers that still like my fic despite how long it took me to post this chapter. I was stressed out and suffering from writer's block as well as a few health problems, but things are going better now and I love reading every review that you guys wrote so thanks.**


	12. Sleep My Dear Bart

**Chapter Twelve: Sleep My Dear Bart**

Bob was doing pretty well for himself all things considered. Money was tight, but he was still getting paid residuals from Chianti di Salsiccia, the winery he'd worked for while in Italy since his likeness was still being used commercially. While he wasn't making a killing with those payments, he still supplemented it with the occasional television appearances and part-time jobs. He was doing well enough to survive.

He'd finally managed to move out of Krusty's place and he had his own small apartment in Springfield. It was still sparsely furnished and not very big and it wasn't the life of luxury he'd imagined for himself, but as long as he had a soft bed and some free space to move around that wasn't a six by eight prison cell, he was satisfied. Ah, the luxury of having a private bathroom.

Bob had just entered the apartment, throwing his keys and wallet onto the coffee table when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and answered.

"Hello?" Bob answered, raising a brow at the name displayed on the screen.

"Yo Bob, I just got word that the Simpson kid is lying out by the street like road kill," answered Louis, an old acquaintance of Bob's from the bad part of town. Bob had told a couple of people around town to keep an eye out on Bart for him just in case. He couldn't risk spying on Bart for himself since that rarely ended well, but he never expected to hear such news and he didn't quite know how to react as he felt a sudden flash of concern.

"What? Why didn't someone call an ambulance? Is he... is he still alive?" asked Bob. He swallowed as he felt the foreboding sense of dread building at the news; even with Bart being such a burr in his side for the past seven years, the thought that the kid might possibly be dead and tossed out on a roadside somewhere was simply unthinkable. Insufferable brats like him were the kind that would never die.

"Antoine said that he still had a pulse. I think he must have found that out when he swiped the kid's wallet or something," Louis snickered. "He said the kid reeked of alcohol."

"Okay, where? What street?" asked Bob letting out the breath he'd been holding as he gathered a mental image of the situation and strangely, he felt this unexplainable sense of relief to know that Bart's life wasn't in immediate danger. Though, that relief was short lived considering what he heard next.

"Mt. Auburn Street, the Lower Eastside," Louis replied.

"Damn..." Bob muttered to himself. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and rubbed his forehead tiredly for a second. It was a dangerous situation for the immature and foolhardy young man, lying out there at night in one of the most dangerous, seedy, rundown areas of the whole city. Bob shook his head at the utter stupidity of the boy and quickly grabbed his wallet and keys before exiting his apartment.

It wasn't long before he spotted Bart in the distance, lying next to the street just like he'd imagined, stars barely visible through the smog veiled night sky. The crisp spring air was colder that usual as he stepped out of the car and came to stand next to the pitiful heap that was Bart Simpson. He was lucky to have only his wallet stolen as he looked so utterly rape-able to the right depraved individual that Bob knew to frequent the area. It was inevitable that one of them would have crossed his path sooner or later if not for Bob's intervention.

Bob smirked with amusement upon seeing the Hooters logo on the back of Bart's coat as he leaned down, placing a hand on Bart's shoulder and turning him onto his back. The Simpson boy was filthy, his clothes stained with mud and vomit and the smell of alcohol on him was strong. Bob brushed his fingers across the boy's neck and felt that he did indeed have a pulse and that his skin was rather cool to the touch from the cool night air. He must have consumed quite a lot of something to make him totally black out like that thought Bob, wondering what might have triggered such a bad choice for someone still so young.

"Heh... lightweight," Bob muttered, though deep down he knew the risk that Bart had taken, playing Russian Roulette with his life so easily. Bob briefly debated with himself whether to drop the boy off at home, to the nearest hospital or to keep him over night at his apartment to sober up. Of course, where Bart was concerned, Bob rarely made the wisest of choices.

"Don't say I never did you any favors kid," whispered Bob as he carefully hoisted Bart up into his arms and took him over to the car, lying him down carefully onto the back seat.

It was nearly 9pm when Bob arrived back at his apartment and placed the still unconscious Bart down onto his bed, the boy making a slight sound of protest in his sleep which was a good sign. It harkened back to memories long since past when Bart was still a child and Bob had sneaked into his room, lying the boy safely back into his bed after deciding against killing him; Bart had grown a lot since then.

He looked down at the mess that was Bart Simpson. For a boy of seventeen, he had been rather easy to lift; it was a wonder he hadn't ended up as hefty as his father. He reeked terribly and he had large grass stains and mud caked onto the front of his clothes. Beneath his black jacket, he wore an orange t-shirt and ripped, baggy jeans.

Upon closer inspection, Bob also noticed that Bart had both of his ears pierced which actually sort of suited his rebellious ways rather well, but what was really amusing was that one ear had a skull and the other a holy cross. It was like the eternal struggle of good vs evil; the symbolism was amusing. A bad boy that slept as peacefully as an angel. Bob could only imagine what Marge's reaction to it had been.

It wasn't like Bart would ever find out so Bob felt safe to indulge himself a bit, leaning down and reaching a hand out, running his fingers curiously through the tufts of spiky blond hair that were rough, yet so deceptively pliable to the touch every time he had felt them. A smile crept onto Bart's face as he lay there shifting slightly in his sleep and leaning in to the touch, obviously taking comfort in Bob's fingers through his hair as well as his new soft resting place which was considerably more comfy that the cold wet ground had been.

"Sleep my dear Bart..." Bob spoke softly, lost in his own thoughts as he played with Bart's hair, "Sleep until you waken. When you wake you'll see the world... if I'm not mistaken," Bob hummed in a rather cryptic, sing-song way. In the times when he was thinking clearly, his heart not overcome with rage and the thirst for revenge, it was actually surprising to himself that he'd ever even consider something as heinous as revenge killing. Bart seemed to just bring out the animal in him like no other, not even Krusty. It was inevitable that Bart would trigger that rage again wasn't it?

"Mmm... Bob," Bart muttered languidly in his sleep at Bob's fingers through his hair. Curious. Somehow, he knew Bob was there even in his sleep and he actively encouraged his physical touch which was something Bob would have never expected even from a sleeping Bart, a kid that, no... a young man, Bob reminded himself... a young man that normally hated his guts, and with good reason. What did it all mean? He was still asleep wasn't he?

Bob, suddenly realizing his indiscretion, withdrew his hand from Bart's hair and took a step back. He felt a cold draft in the room coming from the open window so he crossed the room and shut it, yet the apartment still felt cold. It always felt cold in there no matter how much Bob turned up the heat, but since the rent was so cheap, he simply dealt with it. He looked back over to Bart who was shivering slightly. Of course he was, still wearing his dirty, wet clothing. He couldn't have the boy catching his death in his apartment in such a pathetically anticlimactic way as freezing to death.

Bob swallowed, preparing himself for the task at hand and knowing that even the slightest movement could likely awaken the boy since he had no idea how deep Bart's level of awareness really was, though he had been pretty out of it so far.

He first took off Bart's shoes, leaving on his socks since they appeared to be dry and clean. Then, he stealthfully unzipped Bart's black jacket and slowly eased his arms out of it which was rather difficult as he had to lift him up a bit to get his arms out of the sleeves. His nose wrinkled with disgust at the filthy garment, tossing it in the clothes basket near the door. Next came his orange t-shirt and jeans which Bob took off with little difficulty until Bart was left in nothing but his white, and noticeably snug fitting, boxer-briefs and white socks.

Quite rape-able indeed to the right depraved individual. It was the same thought he'd had from earlier echoing through his mind, but luckily for Bart, Bob wasn't quite that depraved at the moment and certainly not filled with the right amount of rage to let something like that occur. Though, no matter how deep he tried to suppress it, deep down the voyeuristic side of him was irrepressible and fully aware of just how much Bart had matured.

Bob ran the tips of his fingers softy down Bart's lightly toned chest and abdomen before he even realized what he was doing or why. His fingers skimmed down past the navel and over the slightly darker blond hair that invitingly... wait, 'invitingly'? Yes, invitingly trailed down beneath the teen's waistband indicating his almost-adulthood. Bob let his fingers skim down further still, over the front of those formfitting underwear and over the obvious and quite impressive bulge, somehow convincing himself that it was just to check to see if the rain had soaked through. He swallowed even harder when he realized that it had. Of course. Bob quickly pulled his hand away.

He took a deep breath, inching down the waistband and carefully sliding the article of clothing down Bart's legs and past his ankles, hoping that he wouldn't awaken just yet since it would be rather difficult to explain. The boy muttered unintelligibly in his sleep and Bob only dared to steal a glance at what had been hiding beneath when he was certain that Bart wasn't waking up.

He could appreciate the male form all he wanted, but this was Bart Simpson, in the flesh and there in his bed. It was insane. Even being the notorious 'Sideshow Bob', he knew it was wrong to so blatantly watch the completely unaware young man, but he allowed himself a brief once-over of the youthful physique, knowing he'd likely never be granted the privilege again. Privilege? Since when had seeing Bart, any part of him much less him in his entirety, become a privilege?

Bob took another deep breath as he attempted to shake off all those ridiculous thoughts before carefully nudging the dark blue, silken sheets from beneath the boy and biting his lip as his fingers came into contact with Bart's warm skin. Certainly warmer than it had been before which he took as a good sign. A little startled by his own reaction, Bob quickly pulled the covers over Bart, reminding himself yet again that this was Bart Simpson.

Bob laughed quietly at himself for being so ridiculous and so accommodating of the boy he'd so often tried to inflict bodily harm upon. Yes, it was only a matter of time before Bart set off yet another firestorm in his life, but for now, he would simply enjoy the ride while it was at a full stop.

Bob gathered Bart's clothes in his arms and took them off to wash, in the meantime, he would wait. He pulled up a black, wheeled desk chair and sat down on the other side of the room and he was prepared to stay there for at least a little while in case Bart was close to waking up. Not all night... just a while, otherwise it would be incredibly obsessive and a little bit too 'Edward Cullen' even for him; however, there was no way Bob would be able to sleep now since Bart had the only bed in the house and just knowing that he had Bart there, in his clutches really, as he would have said long ago, was enough to keep him wide awake, probably all night. It was an indescribable mixture of nervous excitement and anticipation and it was perplexing.

He refused to acknowledge any feelings of affection for the Simpson boy, but his mind uncontrollably kept going to some pretty dark places just by having Bart so vulnerable and at his mercy. Though, this was nothing new to Bob. His imagination had always ventured into the darker side of things whenever Bart was concerned.

- o - o - o -

Bart slowly found himself awakening into the doldrums of reality, wincing at the intense pain shooting through his head and the irritating light that drilled through his eyelids as soon as they cracked open. To make things worse, he had no idea where he was or how he'd ended up there since looking up and staring at an unfamiliar ceiling was very disorienting. He could see a figure moving across the room and before he knew it his eyes were attacked with the most blinding light as he heard the rustle of curtains being pulled back.

He heard soft laughter from the direction of the window; laughter that set off an instant recognition that still struck terror into him. His heart sped faster as his eyes began to focus and Bob came into view. It was like his worst nightmare had suddenly become a reality and he became submerged within a sea of fear and uncertainty.

"Ah, hello Bart. Nice to see that you're still amongst the living," said Bob smoothly. His calmness contrasting greatly to the turmoil and confusion that Bart was facing.

"Hey... what gives? Are you trying to blind me?" Bart stammered, blinking his eyes at the blinding light from the window as if trying to force himself to see more clearly. Bob merely laughed and walked around to the other side of the bed.

Bart leaned up onto his elbows feeling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Was this just another crazy dream or was he really in a strange, unfamiliar room with Sideshow Bob standing across from him as if he'd watched him sleep all night? The whole thing just had this creepy, 'Edward Cullen' vibe to it, not that he'd read any of the books of course. It felt like there was a knot in his stomach that kept getting tighter and tighter the more his anxiety began to build to the point where he felt it was inevitable that he was about to be sick and just sitting up seemed to make it worse.

The fiery red-head moved to Bart's bedside and quickly offered him a bucket, sensing that Bart was about to throw up. Bart yanked the bucket away from him and quickly emptied his stomach in it, hoping that he would feel a lot better afterwords because he was really at a disadvantage sitting there in what appeared to be Bob's house, on his bed and as weak as a sick dog. Bob took the bucket and sat it on the floor when it looked like Bart had finished.

"You deserved every bit of that Bart," said Bob with a satisfied smirk. "For doing something so foolish," Bob pulled over the desk chair and took a seat near the bed.

"Yeah, whatever," Bart sneered, still unsure what was happening until he remembered stumbling and falling onto the grass the previous night before everything went black. Bart rubbed his sore eyes that now stung with the unforgiving light and probably dehydration. Though, he was beginning to feel a little better after a minute or two.

"It's only true. You're just lucky I saved your sorry hide out there before the wolves picked up on your scent," said Bob.

"Wolves?" asked Bart, looking up at Bob with confusion. As far as he knew, there were no wolves in Springfield, not in the residential areas anyway.

"Predators, pickpockets, rapists, murderers, all those 'Good-time Johnny's out hunting for some fresh meat," Bob answered calmly, locks of his wild, burgundy hair swaying as he turned his head to the side.

"Oh, so you mean people like you?" said Bart, relaxing slightly at the joke. Bob's amused smirk was so contagious that, despite himself, Bart smiled back. Bart took a deep breath, relieved that it appeared Bob wouldn't be murdering him, at least not today. Despite the adrenalin rush he felt when ever Bob was chasing after him, he liked Bob a lot better when he didn't have a knife or an intense, blood-thirsty look in his eyes.

"Well... I suppose I should get you a glass of water at least? Something to eat maybe... to lessen the hangover?" Bob offered. Bart shook his head no; he just wanted to get out of there and go home.

"Well, suit yourself," Bob stood up and crossed his arms behind his back, standing next to the bed. "Anyway, thankfully you're awake now since I have somewhere to be in about thirty minutes and I can't be late," Bob tossed Bart a set of keys. "You can let yourself out, but please," Bob stepped a little closer, flicking Bart's hair in a very patronizing way to which Bart quickly pushed his hands away and shot him an annoyed glare, "do lock the doors on the way out, alright? And place the key beneath the ceramic snail in the yard."

"Wait Bob... how exactly did I end up here and why are you letting me go so easily? You have me right where you've always wanted me, completely vulnerable to your attack yet..." Bart's sentence was cut off by Bob's hand over his mouth.

"Don't provoke me Bart. And don't question it," Bob breathed close to his ear, sending unwarranted chills through him at that dark, almost threatening tone to that silky voice and to the heat of his mouth so close to his ear. Bart gasped.

"Just be grateful," Bob answered, placing a hand on Bart's chest briefly, directly over his heart and lingering a moment longer before pulling away and walking towards the door to leave. "Oh... and someone swiped your wallet last night so you're going to need either some money for a taxi, the bus or I'll have to drive you," said Bob from the doorway in a complete about face before exiting. Bart could hear the sink running in the next room.

"What? I had thirty bucks in there!" Bart protested, suddenly snapping out of the melted pile of unwanted attraction and desire that Bob had reduced him too. Suddenly, more questions came to mind and he had the feeling that he'd never have enough time for Bob to answer them all. Questions like why was Bob trusting him with his keys? Was it a trick to gain his trust? And why had Bob even bothered to help him and why hadn't anyone called? He did have his phone with him after all and he just knew his parents would be furious that he'd stayed out all night.

"You don't have your license yet do you?" asked Bob from the bathroom.

"I've got my driver's permit, but what good is it doing me right now without a car?" Bart yelled back, annoyed.

"No need for misguided hostility," came Bob's muffled voice.

Bart got up, preparing for his long journey home since he was not about to let Bob drive him around like some chauffeur and the last thing he wanted to do was to borrow money from Bob. Bart pulled the covers off and prepared to leave only to find that he'd been completely naked under there and he was completely mortified by the fact! This was beyond creepy even by Bob's standards!

"Bob! What the hell? What did you..." Bart yelled, completely horrified and embarrassed, his face glowing red at the realization. Bob suddenly peeked in from the doorway, a toothbrush in his mouth. The man nearly choked at the site of Bart standing there in the nude, but before Bart could even react or find some way to cover himself, Bob had already went back into the bathroom, followed by the sound of his cackling laughter. Bart was humiliated, but mostly angry. Who did Bob think he was stripping him of his clothing, of his dignity while he was out cold and why would he even attempt such a thing if it wasn't to humiliate him in some way, though perhaps Bob really was just a sick voyeur.

"Bob! What did you do with my clothes?" Bart yelled.

"They're on the table by the window. I took the liberty of throwing them in the wash for you since I couldn't let you sleep in your own filth all night. No need to thank me," Bob yelled from the bathroom followed by more laughter, though this time, slightly less riotous.

Bart growled with anger, his face hot with embarrassment as he yanked his underwear off of the table and put them on first. He was pretty sure Bob hadn't done anything to him besides washing his clothes since he didn't feel any differently than before, not that he would know what being violated would feel like afterwords, but he assumed he would have bruises or something which he didn't.

Besides, Bob had never shown any signs of such perversion in the past, at least not towards him besides the occasional intense hatred in his eyes, a lust for revenge which strikingly resembled sexual lust. It's like Bob got his rocks off more with the fear and intimidation he inflicted, which to Bart, actually seemed more scary than sexual lust.

Bart picked up his jeans and smelled them before putting them on, noticing that they smelled cleaner than ever, even cleaner than his mother could get them which was impressive. Now that he thought about it, besides the initial embarrassment of Bob seeing him naked, the man had been really thoughtful taking him there, washing his clothes, watching over him all night and making sure that his parents never found out that he'd slept off a hangover. He wouldn't actually call his parents would he?

Bob came in just as Bart had fastened his jeans. Bart still didn't have his shirt on, but Bob had already seen the full package anyway and he had no qualms being shirtless so it didn't really matter. Yet, having that much exposed skin showing in front of a man that was so quick with the knife was quite unsettling.

"Hey Bob, where's my phone?" Bart asked, attempting to draw attention away from his state of undress. He found himself unable to look at Bob, all things considered.

"Your phone is on the bedside table. I turned it off so that you could sleep," said Bob, answering Bart's the next question as to why no one had called since he had been out all night. Surely his family would wonder where he was.

"Just for the record..." Bob began. Bart looked up at him finally, noting the hesitancy in Bob's voice as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. "I did a do a bit of pointing and laughing... but other than that... you have nothing to worry about..." the slight red tinge on Bob's face was unexpected and it caught Bart off guard, making him blush even harder.

"Worry? What do you mean? Why would I worry?" stammered Bart, picking up his shirt and distractingly attempting to flip it from being inside-outwards.

Phht..." Bob snorted in disbelief. "Don't pretend it didn't cross your mind. That... that I may have... taken advantage of your... incapacitation. I may be a lot of things Bart... but I'll have you know that I'm certainly not that depraved... even when it comes to you," Bob closed his eyes as he ran his fingers through his own hair rather vainly. Bart couldn't help the lingering stare as he stood mesmerized by Bob's natural regality, the way he held himself in even the most embarrassing of situations. Bart admired the quality that not many people actually possessed.

He shook his head at the ridiculous detour his mind had taken and laughed before tossing his shirt onto the foot of the bed and crossing the room to grab his phone, feeling a little more relaxed than he probably should have, being in Bob's apartment. Or was it a house? He still wasn't sure since he had only seen it from the inside of that one room.

Bart turned on his phone and was unsurprised to see that it was overflowing with missed calls and texts. How the hell was he supposed to explain himself and why he'd stayed out without calling? However, there was one text in particular that caught his attention as he scrolled through his messages and he felt as if he'd been shot straight in the heart when he read the word's 'car accident' and 'Milhouse' in the same sentence on his screen.

"Oh... oh my God!" Bart stared at his phone, completely mortified and frozen in place for a moment as his mind tried to process the fact that Milhouse had been in an accident. That he might possibly be... no. He couldn't even fathom it because then it would be far too real; Far too concrete when right now, it was just a vague text. He barely registered it when Bob stepped closer to him from behind, placing a hand on his naked shoulder.

"Bart?" asked Bob, his voice steady and uncertain. Bart took a deep breath, finding it almost too difficult to speak.

"Milhouse... I think he's... been in an accident," said Bart numbly, the words seemingly cementing it in his mind. It was suddenly real and he could barely breath.

"You mean a car accident? Last night?" asked Bob. Bart looked up at Bob, a brief moment of suspicion crossing his mind that Bob would even know it was a car accident, much less last night, though he supposed it was only the most likely assumption. Surely Bob wasn't involved?

"Yeah," answered Bart, the phone shaking in his weary hand. Finally snapping back into reality he quickly dialed his home number, hoping that his mother would answer, yet holding his breath and praying, for the first time in quite a while, that Milhouse wasn't injured too badly.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - I know, I know... another cliff hanger. I just can't help it! I guess my writing abilities are just predisposed to cliffhangers. So here we see the struggle that Bart faces which is 'to trust Bob, or not to trust' and frankly, I don't think Bob can really trust himself most of the time...<strong>

**Yeah, I know Bob isn't the cruel, demented creature that we all know and love... yet, but he always has to have a reason to hate Bart enough to want murder and revenge. All it takes is one wrong move to get on Bob's bad side and I assure you that Bart will overstep that line sooner or later in this fic.**

**Consequently, the street mentioned is an actual street in Springfield based on a map of the city and the place Bart was on the side of the road appeared to be the bad part of town. I'm assuming that's also near Nelson's house.**

**The quote from Bob in it's original form is:**

**"Sleep my little baby-oh**

**Sleep until you waken**

**When you wake you'll see the world**

**If I'm not mistaken...**

**– Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book.**


	13. Nice Plaid Interior

**Chapter 13: Nice Plaid Interior**

"Mom? What's going on?" asked Bart as he sat down on the side of the bed, dread building as he anticipated the worst. What he heard on the other end of the phone was exasperated sobs from his mother. "M-mom! Please... relax."

"Oh Bart! I'm so glad you're alright." Marge cried.

"Yeah yeah... I'm fine. Really," Bart answered impatiently. He really hated to interrupt his mother's emotional rejoicing in the fact that he was alright, but he needed answers.

"What's this about Milhouse being in an accident?" asked Bart urgently, his hand wavering slightly as he held the phone up to his ear.

"There was this freak accident, a hit and run and Milhouse is in ICU at the moment, but he's stable thank goodness. Oh Bart..." Marge paused to catch her breath, her voice strained with both grief and relief. "I thought you might have been with him when it happened since you didn't come home last night! I thought someone had taken you!"

Bart glanced over to Bob standing a couple of feet away: his captor, his rescuer, the man who really had taken him, though not in the way that his mother had imagined since it seemed that Bob didn't harbor any sort of malicious intent as far as he knew. Bob stared back at him with wide eyed confusion. Would he really even care what was going on? Was the gene for compassion even coded into his DNA or was he just too cold hearted to even give a damn? All he knew was that hearing that Milhouse was stable had greatly assuaged his worries.

Bob started to speak, but Bart shot him a warning look, raising his hand to silence him. The last thing his mother needed at that moment was to hear Bob's voice over the phone.

"Okay, where are you? At home or the hospital?" asked Bart.

"I'm home right now, but a better question is where are you mister? And why didn't you even bother to call?" asked Marge, a tone of hurt in her voice which pulled on his heartstrings and made him feel nauseated all at once.

"Where am I?" Bart repeated her question, staring up at Bob searchingly, scrambling to come up with an excuse, any excuse that wouldn't upset her. Anything but the truth. He wasn't sure what his mother thought about Bob, but he had the feeling that it would do more harm than good telling her that he'd passed out on the roadside like some drunken idiot and had woken up naked and with a hangover in the home of Sideshow Bob, his former tormentor.

"Well... I'll uh... explain it when I get there. Actually, I think I'd rather meet you at the hospital," said Bart.

"Okay but-" said Marge, before Bart cut her off.

"Okay see you there. Love you, bye," Bart added before quickly hanging up on her, hoping that the quick and rarely spoken anymore 'love you' would soften the blow of the hangup. He put the phone in his jeans pocket and anticipating that Bob was about to say something, Bart beat him to it as he stood up and spoke.

"Don't bother to offer me a ride Bob," said Bart.

"What makes you think that I would? It hadn't even crossed my mind." Bob crossed his arms defiantly, wearing the same slight smirk that often grazed his features whenever he spoke teasingly. Bart looked up at Bob, eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. Bart wasn't one to be messed with at that moment.

"Look Bart," Bob began, "we both know that you have no other option. Either let me drive you to the hospital and put a little trust in me, or walk all the way there which will take forever."

"But I thought you had somewhere important to be," Bart questioned.

"Ah, it can wait. Not very often do you and I get a chance to chat."

"I don't want to chat." said Bart curtly, "I just want to go see Milhouse. That's what you do when you have a friend that needs you and you have any sort of heart at all; though, I'm sure you wouldn't understand that." Bart looked him in the eye with mistrust, dislike exuding from his words and his body language. Could he really trust Bob? Really?

"I'll get my keys," stated Bob flatly as he left the room in a huff as if Bart's cold treatment actually had an affect on him. So the iceman himself could be affected by something? It felt odd just knowing that. Bart went into the living room, taking in the sparsely furnished room that was way too neat for any bachelor living on his own. He looked up to see Bob leaning against the front door, waiting.

"Come on then," said Bob stiffly, apparently still miffed at him. Did he really want to get into a car with this guy? Against better judgment, he headed towards Bob.

"Bart," said Bob as he reached a hand out to Bart's naked chest to which Bart gasped at those cool hands which had twice today graced him with their contact. It seemed far too often to be merely accidental, but he decided against giving it to much credence for the moment. "Your shirt," said Bob.

"Oh..." said Bart stupidly, not even realizing that he hadn't put his shirt on yet and was about to get into the car like that.

"Good luck explaining that when you get to the hospital." Bob snorted with amusement. Bart dashed off to Bob's room and put on the shirt quickly, then returned to the living room. Bob gave him a quick nod before opening the front door and exiting. Bart followed him to Bob's black, two door hatchback in the parking lot, apprehension building at the prospect of being in such a closed in space with the man.

"Hey... nice plaid interior Bob." Bart commented upon seeing the inside of the car. Though just the center of the seats were a gray/red plaid, the rest of the interior was a sleek, solid gray which balanced it out nicely, but at least Bob had a car. Bart would do anything just for the freedom of not having everyone chauffeur him around like a little kid anymore so he was quite eager to get a car of is own soon, whenever possible.

"It's unique, but I've sort of grown accustomed to it," said Bob, "Like many things." Bob added. Bart felt his face flush red at Bob's choice of words. Words that harkened back to a time when Bob had serenaded him with 'I've grown accustomed to your face.' Yes, Bob's words most definitely were intentional.

The rest of the drive progressed mostly in silence and it only hit him now, as he sat in the passenger seat, how odd it felt to actually sit alone in a car with Sideshow Bob. The awkward silence and the unspoken tension was almost unbearable, especially once they stopped at a street light. Bart watched absentmindedly as Bob's fingers tapped erratically along the steering wheel; Bart's own fingers tapped on the armrest of the car door, unknowingly mimicking the man. Bob sighed as the red light dragged on and on and not a car in sight. The sounds of fingers tapping and the hum of the engine clearly pushing Bob to his limit.

"Oh the hell with it!" Bob growled, gripping the steering wheel tightly and pressing his foot generously on the gas, running straight through the red light. Even that small bit of unleashed rage left Bart in awe, knowing just how far that threshold could get. Though had he really seen the limits of Bob's rage? Darting out of the way of a huge blade that Bob had swung at him on numerous occasions seemed as intense as it could get, but was that really the peak of Bob's fury? If not, how far could he actually go once provoked enough?

Bob finally slowed the car down a bit and took a deep, steadying breath. After a minute or two Bob suddenly spoke, finally shattering the contemplative silence and causing Bart to jolt.

"So I take it by your calm attitude that your friend isn't dead?" Bob asked calmly.

"Wow Bob... way to start off a conversation. It seems your use of tact leaves much to be desired," said Bart in an annoyed tone. Bob laughed quietly, making Bart wonder if he'd said something funny. The man did have a rather unconventional sense of humor.

"Well he isn't dead is he?" asked Bob.

"No, he's alive. Mom said that he was in a hit and run and he's at the hospital in stable condition. I guess that means he's okay right?" asked Bart hopefully, unsure why he even asked since he knew there would be no consoling from Bob, nor did he expect it.

Bob remained silent, tightening his lips slightly as if not wanting to say something and keeping his eyes on the road. His silence made Bart even more uncertain and worried for his friend than he had been and he couldn't wait to get to Milhouse, yet at the same time, he dreaded the condition that he would eventually see him in.

"So, what kind of Volkswagen is this anyway?" asked Bart, reading the logo on the steering wheel as he'd hoped to steer the subject away from Milhouse for a bit. "I always pictured you as an Italian sports car kind of guy."

"It's a VW GTI 2013. It's European, affordable, drives smoothy and it has enough foot room which is a must for me." Bob said at length, "As much as I'd like the latest Aston Martin or Lamborghini, one must live in reality." Bob laughed.

"I could have been rich, I could have had it all you know..." Bob sighed wistfully. "If only one meddlesome young scamp hadn't pushed his way into my life and spoiled everything," he added, though his smirk seemed to indicate teasing rather than resentment over the past.

Finally reaching the hospital parking lot, they sat in silence for a moment, a hundred things that Bart wanted to say flashing through his mind in rapid succession and he found it difficult to single in on just one. He tried to steal a glance at Bob, only to see the man staring back at him when he look up from where he sat in the passenger's seat. Perhaps it was just the fact that his best friend had been in an accident that had his nerves and emotions all mixed up.

"Well Bob. I guess... I guess I should say thank you?" said Bart uncertainly, but it came out more as a question.

"Think nothing of it." Bob gave him a quick, polite smile. "At the risk of sounding incredibly pretentious, I would say that that's what you do when you have a friend that needs you and you have any sort of heart at all. Though... I'm sure we don't quite qualify as friends at this point." Bob smirked, averting his gaze to the hospital building just ahead.

Bart mulled over the word 'pretentious' for a moment, but he got the gist of the message and felt a strange and annoying fluttering in his stomach at the thought that Bob might really have meant it and at that moment, he felt just the tiniest bit of the mistrust he had for the man breaking. Maybe it was merely a demonstration of Bob's incredible memory, but Bob had mirrored Bart's harsh words from earlier and the fact that he'd recited them, word for word, meant something right?

"Whatever Bob," said Bart, a slight smile on his face as he attempted to play down the embarrassingly warm feelings he was having for the man just then. He didn't really know what else to say, so he decided that it was probably time for him to leave. It wasn't like Bob would be going any farther with him on his journey and this was likely the last time he'd talk to him in quite a while, though he didn't know why he even cared anyway.

"I guess I'll just be going then." Bart looked back up at Bob who seemed a little lost in thought himself before meeting his gaze, their silent, lingering stare lasting a little too long for comfort. Bob looked like he wanted to say something and Bart felt frozen into place waiting for it, for anything. He swallowed as Bob's eyes wandered to his mouth before looking back up to his eyes. Didn't such obvious body language indicate that Bob was thinking about kissing him? The thought was too unreal to even comprehend as Bob licked his lips and seemed to be a little closer to him than he had been seconds ago.

Bart felt himself on auto-pilot as he leaned forward and before he could even make sure he was reading the signals right, he closed the distance, his lips pressing against Bob's ever so lightly and catching the surprised look on Bob's face before Bart closed his eyes. Bob responded, leaning more into the kiss and inside he felt a torrent of desire as Bob licked his bottom lip and left him breathless with need and a hungry feeling unlike anything he'd felt before. His heart drummed so loud he could practically hear it in his ears.

The scent of the man was a mixture of coffee, burnt embers and this indescribable animalistic musk that was purely intoxicating. Bob's tongue slipped past his lips with little protest and Bart's fingernails dug into the car seat as he felt the slick wetness against his tongue, tentatively nudging it with his own. Bob shifted in his seat, bringing a hand to the side of Bart's face. His fingers moved higher until he had a firm, yet gentle grip of Bart's spiky hair as his tongue delved in deeper and Bart inadvertently made a needy sound which provoked a similar growling moan from Bob, his fingers tightening their lusty grip in his hair.

He pulled away from Bob at the sound of an approaching car, his mind still in a haze; his whole body on fire. His uneven, ragged breathing matched Bob's whose face, he imagined, was as red as his own. Being so suddenly thrust back into reality was like waking up from a dream only to find yourself in another one; a dream within a dream. He had been connected to Bob through circumstances beyond his control for so long that it felt like everything they'd ever been through together had been leading up to this moment. Now, to deal with the aftermath.

"Uh..." said Bart. It was all he could get out as he grew back into the habit of breathing air properly again, his face glowing with embarrassment. That was when the overwhelming feeling of guilt began to hit him, guilt over the self-indulgent lack of control he had shown while Milhouse lay in a hospital bed not too far away.

"Bart..." said Bob breathlessly. Bart didn't dare look directly at Bob, but watched him nervously from his peripheral vision. "I was just leaning down to pick up my lighter..."

"WHAT?" Bart stammered. His heart still beat fiercely, but now more with embarrassment and anger than with the waning passion he'd felt seconds ago. "Then why did you kiss me back? You think this is just a game?" asked Bart angrily.

"I didn't say I didn't welcome it," said Bob flatly, his expression unreadable.

Bart openly gawked at him for a moment as he tried to process just what was being said. Did Bob mean that he welcomed the game of playing with his trust, his emotions or did he welcome the kiss? Bart swallowed, unsure if he could actually voice his confusion. Not being able to speak his mind wasn't something that Bart was used to, being quite the outgoing, opinionated person that he was. He wasn't being himself which was something Bob had reduced him to and it made him even more angry.

Suddenly, a knock on the passenger's side window snapped him to attention. He looked over to see his mother's concerned face staring at him from the window and the rest of the family just getting out of the car as well. His mind suddenly went blank. He had no clue what his next course of action would be, or if they had even seen anything until Bob's hand nudged his leg.

"Go greet your family," said Bob.

"What do I say?" asked Bart in a panic.

"Well, if you want to tell the truth by omission then... just say that I found you and offered a ride which is still partially the truth, now just go!" said Bob quickly, reaching across Bart and opening the car door. As soon as he got out of the car, he found himself in his mother's crushing embrace causing him to gasp for air.

"Bart I'm so glad you're safe! What happened? Where were you last night?" his mother asked, finally releasing him. He heard the car door behind him click and his mother's eyes traveling up to the distance behind him to where Bob was getting out of the car.

"Mom could we talk about this later? I kind of just want to go up there and see Milhouse right now."

"Of course dear, lets go," said Marge, placing a comforting hand on his back before turning to Bob. "But what about you Mr... uh...Sideshow Bob?" Marge hesitated, struggling to remember his last name.

"Terwilliger, but please, call be Bob," Bob extended his hand and when Marge offered hers, he took it and brought it to his lips, placing a brief, gentlemanly kiss upon it. Marge looked a little surprised and if the growl coming from Homer meant anything, he greatly disapproved.

Bart narrowed his eyes as he came to realize just how manipulative Bob really was with his charming disposition. The kissing of a lady's hand was a tradition that was all but lost upon this generation, though it seemed many women still melted a little inside at the gesture and Bob knew this. Still, it was a little creepy to think that the lips which he had just kissed with such fervor were now kissing his mother's hand. The fact that he had practically made out with Sideshow Bob was still a little too hard to digest, especially when what must have been less than a minute, seemed like an eternity. That the whole thing had been merely a misreading of signals on his part only added more fiery embarrassment to the flame. The man was just leaning forward to pick up a lighter for Christ's sake!

"Bob... uh... I think I'd like to talk to you a bit in the waiting room, would you mind?" said Marge after an awkward moment.

"Of course. I suppose I could find the time," said Bob smoothly. The man had attacked, tied up and tried to murder them all several times in the past which was partially why Bart didn't want his family to know that he'd put that much trust in Bob. Also, there was the fact that he also had this indescribable and confusing attraction/repulsion thing going on with Bob that he surely didn't want getting out to his family.

Bart looked from Bob, to the various shocked faces of his family. Lisa finally stopped gawking at Bob and shot Bart a look of questioning and disbelief, though he couldn't blame her, especially after seeing him getting out of Bob's car like they where old pals that shared no sort of animosity whatsoever.

"What?" he mouthed silently to Lisa, hands palms up in a 'what did I do' sort of gesture. The eight year old Maggie approached him.

"I expect full details on what's been going on with you later." Maggie warned. "I have my ways of making people talk!" she added with a sinister stare before leaving to catch up with her parents who had already gone ahead.

"He offered me a ride okay? Now please, let's just go!" said Bart, before quickly scampering ahead to catch up to them and to get away from Lisa's interrogating stare.

Once they had gotten up to the hospital and sat down in the waiting room, everyone sat down together at one side of the room, although his mother had taken Bob off to the far side to speak to him alone for a couple of minutes. Bart leaned down to rest his elbows on his knees as he sat in one of the chairs, nervous as hell as to what Bob and his mother were talking about as he looked over to them, straining his ears to hear. Though he didn't know why he was letting it eat him alive so much since he'd probably be much better off just taking whatever punishment for staying out and getting drunk that his parents would dish out if it meant the end of the guilt and psychological torture of waiting to be caught. It was the part about Bob being involved in his life recently that he was worried about. He didn't want his family dragged into the middle of it if Bob suddenly did decide to snap and unleash his fury for some reason or another as he always did.

After a couple of minutes, his mother finished talking with Bob and came to sit with the rest of the family, leaving Bob on the other side of the waiting room sitting in one of the chairs. Bob glanced towards Bart briefly giving him a quick nod and raising his eyebrows which he guessed was meant to be reassuring. Bob then picked up a magazine from the coffee table in front of him and began to read. Why hadn't the man left yet? He had no other reason to stay did he?

"Well... Bob explained everything," said Marge as she sat down in the seat next to Bart at the end of the row of chairs.

"What did he say?" Bart bit his lip nervously.

"He told me what happened, surely you'd know. You were there," said Marge.

"Heh heh...yeah..." Bart laughed weakly.

"He said you'd stayed over at a friend's house and your phone went dead and you were too tired to call. Then when they offered to give you a ride home in the morning, you got into some argument and they ditched you on the side of the road where he found you." Marge explained.

"Right. This guy named Jack and I didn't quite agree and I found myself out on the roadside," said Bart. Though there was some nugget of truth in the story that Bob had fabricated, he still felt just a little guilty that now he had others lying for him. Though his mother seemed quite willing to believe it all so he wasn't about to correct her. Not in a million years if he could get away with it, guilty conscience or not.

After around ten minutes or so of waiting, doctor Hibbert finally came and sought them out. Bart stood up from his seat.

"I'm sorry to have to break it to you... but your friend has passed away," said Dr. Hibbert sorrowfully.

"What!?" Bart exclaimed, his heart feeling as if it had been yanked out of his chest, his whole world spiraling out of focus. This just had to be some sick joke!

"You're here to see Mr. Pomeroy am I right?" the doctor asked.

"No! We're here to see Milhouse Van Houten you jackass!" yelled Bart, furious at the doctor for making such a grossly unprofessional and insensitive mistake. He held onto the arm of the chair to steady himself as he recovered and took a deep breath of relief.

"Oh, sorry my mistake!" Hibbert laughed, flipping over the papers on his clipboard. Bart glared at him angrily as the man began to speak again. "Well... it looks like poor Milhouse has seen better days." Dr. Hibbert shook his head as he read off the report. "He received a concussion, a broken leg, and various cuts, scrapes and bruises from the impact of the car and from hitting the concrete, but the prognosis for his recovery is very good."

"Oh thank goodness!" said Marge, voicing Bart's own relief.

"Yeah, I'm glad the little wiener is gonna be okay too." Homer patted Bart on the back comfortingly which made him feel a lot better. He was glad that his family seemed just as happy as he was to hear the news only now he couldn't wait to see Milhouse when before he was a little hesitant to see him when he thought the injuries were more serious. As much as he wanted to be there for Milhouse, he hated the thought of seeing any of his friends critically injured.

Still, when he entered Milhouse's hospital room, he was unprepared for what he saw. Milhouse looked so fragile and beaten with all the bloodstained bandages covering most of his body that was visible and Bart imagined that there were even more cuts and bruises beneath the covers. Around his forehead and one side of his face was bandaged as well and all Bart wanted to do was to let him know that he was sorry. Sorry that he was hurt and sorry that he had kicked him out of his house likely moments before the unfortunate turn of events.

The rest of the family had already seen Milhouse earlier that morning, so they left Bart alone with him this time which he was grateful for. As soon as they left, Bart approached the bed and reached a hand out hesitantly, unsure where he could touch him that wouldn't cause any pain.

Even after hearing that his prognosis was 'very good' it was still somewhat hard to believe given the way his friend looked all bruised and full of what looked like painful injuries. He looked half mummified with all of the bandages and dried blood covering much if his body.

Finally bringing his hand to Milhouse's right forearm that appeared to be unscathed, Bart softly brushed his fingers across the skin and spoke.

"Milhouse? Can you hear me?" asked Bart. He cleared his throat and spoke a little more loudly.

"Milhouse, it's me, Bart. Can you wake up a second? I just want to... to see if you're okay." Bart's words choked up in his throat as his eyes burned from the tears he tried to hold back. He took a deep breath and regained his composure since he didn't want Milhouse to see him like that if he woke up. 'If', being a terrifying word that he had to shove out of his thoughts. The monitor above indicated his pulse with the intermittent beeps and the constantly peeking line so at least that was some consolation.

Was this all an accident or had someone intentionally tried to kill him? Who would even want to kill Milhouse anyway? Not to blame the victim or anything, but perhaps Milhouse had angered someone out there and now he had his own 'Sideshow Bob' to contend with. A person with a real vendetta out on him; it was almost unthinkable.

Bart leaned over Milhouse and kissed the side of his face that wasn't bandaged, something that he would never have thought of doing a week ago, but that now seemed like the most logical thing in the world. It was a brief kiss and he'd barely even touched him, but it seemed to have done the trick as Milhouse's eyes fluttered slightly, indicating his consciousness. Milhouse muttered something, but Bart couldn't really make out what was being said.

"What? Milhouse?" asked Bart uncertainly, his hope returning.

"Prince... Charming..." Milhouse muttered, turning his head to Bart, his eyes squinting without his glasses. It took Bart a moment to realize what Milhouse had meant by that, but after a moment he laughed, thankful that his friend was conscious and aware enough to be able to joke with him.

"Then who does that make you? Sleeping Beauty?" Bart laughed, quickly wiping his watery eyes with is hand. "Do you need your glasses? Bart asked, realizing how odd and unfamiliar the blue haired boy looked without them.

"Yeah, my old glasses cracked, but my parents brought me an extra pair earlier this morning," said Milhouse weakly, "You look like a blur from here."

Bart searched around the room, the counter near the sink, the various drawers and bedside table, but he couldn't find the glasses anywhere.

"Okay, I'll look under here then." Bart felt underneath Milhouse's pillow, under the bed and everything, but still no glasses. "Dammit!" Bart cursed, feeling so useless being unable to fulfill his friend's simple request.

"It's okay, don't worry about it." Milhouse took a deep breath and exhaled, pausing thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke again. "You know things like this really put life in perspective..."

"Yeah. About yesterday..." said Bart, finally giving up on finding the glasses, "what I said... I didn't mean it you know."

"Don't worry about it. You were just upset... I suppose I was a little rash myself. I mean, kissing someone full on the lips without warning isn't the best idea," said Milhouse, laughing tiredly.

"Yeah," Bart replied, scratching his arm shamefully as he realized that he had just done the same thing with Bob not too long ago.

"Talking about me?" asked Bob, peeking his head in through the cracked door before entering the room.

"Who is that?" asked Milhouse.

"Oh he's awake?" Bob asked surprised. "Well, I guess that much is obvious."

Bart's eyes grew wide with uncertainty. Milhouse was already wary of the ex-clown lately and his presence was the last thing Milhouse needed while he was still in recovery.

"Sideshow Bob?" asked Milhouse with shock. The man's blurry image and voice were still unique enough for Milhouse to recognize even without glasses.

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the accident. That is, if you're up to it." Bob ventured cautiously.

"Why would I want to talk to you of all people? What are you even doing here? For all I know, you were the one that ran me over!" Milhouse yelled, wincing with pain as he moved too much.

"It's okay Milhouse!" Bart tried to reassure him. "Bob's actually the one that gave me the ride here and I'm still alive!"

"What, killing Bart isn't enough for you anymore? You have to go after his friends now too?" Milhouse began to try and sit up, but Bart quickly rushed towards him and placed his hands on Milhouse's shoulders, pushing him back down on the bed.

"Really Milhouse. It's fine. Just stay in bed or else you'll hurt yourself!" Bart urged.

"I'm sorry that my presence has caused such an emotional display, but if I could just have a moment of your time I may be able to help find the person that did this to you. Now do you remember the color or make of the car that hit you?" Bob asked calmly as he cautiously neared Milhouse.

"I don't see why you would want to help me," said Milhouse, "Probably just fishing to see how much I really know and whether or not it's enough to convict you with attempted murder!"

"I swear Milhouse, on my life, that I did not try to kill you." said Bob unwaveringly. Bart searched his face for any signs of deception since he did have his suspicions, but the man was as unreadable as always. He just didn't want to believe that Sideshow Bob would stoop as low as to kill his best friend. He would have no motive to would he?

"Don't believe him Bart! I'll bet he's got his fingers crossed behind his back! He's lying! Why else would he be here?" Milhouse yelled. Bob quickly moved his hands from behind his back and flashed them, palms forward.

"I swear. I didn't try to kill you." said Bob, his hands still raised as if surrendering to the cops, "If you must know, I've done a bit of detective work in my day and I just thought that perhaps I could be of some assistance; an asset to the investigation since the cops in this town seem unable to perform a proper and thorough investigation to save their lives. Now what color was the car?" asked Bob. Milhouse glared at him a moment before begrudgingly answering.

"It was black... I remember seeing a logo on the grill, but I forget what it was." said Milhouse.

"Yes. That's a good start." said Bob as he took out a piece of paper and pen from his pocket and began to write.

"I'll bet Bob's car is black." Milhouse mentioned to Bart. The fact that it really was black was a little unnerving. After all, who knows what Bob had done while Bart was sleeping off his hangover? Still, he found it difficult to believe that Bob would try to murder Milhouse since he still couldn't see any clear motive and there were lots of other black cars in town so it wasn't like it was definitive proof of guilt; not by a long shot. Bart remained silent.

"Anything else you remember?" asked Bob. "Did you see a face or any distinguishable characteristic or perhaps witnesses that may have been standing nearby?" Milhouse shook his head negatively, hissing at the pain of the simple movement.

"Okay. I suppose that's enough to go on for now. I can come back later with pictures of various cars and logos for you to identify if that would be okay."

"Don't bother." Milhouse turned his head away from Bob.

"I'll send them with Bart then," offered Bob, but Milhouse shook his head again.

"No you won't! Just stay away from Bart! I won't have you tainting him with your presence anymore!" Milhouse yelled with a certain finality. Bob stared at him for a long moment wordlessly before looking over to Bart, catching his eye.

"Bob. It's fine." Bart paused, trying to think of a discreet way of telling Bob that he'd talk to him later without upsetting Milhouse. "Stay in the waiting room okay?" Bart said finally.

"That would be for the best." Bob conceded. "Though for the record..." Bob neared Bart, leaning closely to his ear to whisper. "I actually wasn't leaning down to pick up my lighter." Bob's voice hissed hotly near his ear making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For once, he was thankful that Milhouse really couldn't see very well without his glasses since he was sure that his face was as red hot as a jalapeno pepper! Damn Bob!

Bob moved away from him with a satisfied smirk on his face that made Bart want to bash his face in and kiss him all over again. It was an odd feeling that had his stomach swirling and his heart racing and he hated the affect Bob could have on him. Once Bob slipped out of the room, Milhouse spoke up.

"What did he say just then?" Milhouse asked curiously.

"Oh he just..." Bart coughed, his voice cracking for the first time in quite a while as he struggled to regain his composure. "Just nothing... it was something about a lighter. I couldn't really hear him very well." Bart lied.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - I'm more of a Mustang fan myself, though right now, the Dodge Challenger looks pretty bad-ass to me, but I actually think the VW GTI looks kind of cool despite what everyone else thinks. It's certainly unique. XD I know everyone pictures Bob in a sexy Italian luxury car, but realistically, the GTI was affordable and had enough room for his huge feet.<strong>

**Here's a link to Bob's practical, slightly boring car (though it has the uniqueness factor) – usnews. rankingsandreviews cars-trucks/Volkswagen_GTI/ (just remove the spaces for the link to work)**** (his was with black exterior since any car looks good in sleek black) If you're going car shopping or just browsing, this site is pretty good for more modern makes. The 360° pictures showing the exterior and interior are awesome! Though I wish they had more pics of the Dodge Viper. ****But enough about that.**

**And I don't know what I was thinking when I named this chapter. I just needed a title, though I'm sure the car interior is going to be the last thing on Bart's mind if he ever finds himself in the car with Bob again.**

**To be continued.**


	14. Connecting the Dots

**Chapter 14: Connecting the Dots**

It was a hot and humid night, the chill of the previous week was gone and replaced by weather much more fitting of the time of year as summer approached. Sweat dripped from his brow as Bob's hand wavered with anticipation and nervousness, hovering over Snake's doorbell. He was having anxiety attacks that were just as volatile as those he'd had in prison and he just needed something; someone to bring him back down into the reality that Bart had so abruptly shaken the fabric of and sitting alone in his apartment that evening doing nothing but chain smoking and nervously fidgeting like a caged animal just wasn't cutting it.

He finally pressed the buzzer, letting out the breath he'd been holding when he realized that the doorbell was broken. It was a rather rundown part of town, so it didn't really surprise him. He shook his head over how ridiculous he was behaving, swallowed down his own anxiety and knocked. After a moment, he could hear the peep hole slide open and saw an eye peering out briefly before opening the door. Just as paranoid as ever, Snake's hand held steady to something in the front pocket of his jeans, knowing him, it was likely his trusty .45 caliber semi-automatic Glock, his weapon of choice. As far as paranoia was concerned, Bob had seen Snake flip out at the mere sight of a cop or even a loud noise so this was to be expected.

"Oh Bob... dude. What are you doing here?" asked Snake in that distinctive 'valley boy' accent that Bob had come to know during their long stints together in lockup. Bob scratched the back of his arm nervously.

"Well... I thought you might just enjoy some company for the evening... but judging by your irritated expression, I take it that my assumption was wrong," said Bob, looking up to meet Snake's questioning stare. Snake made a scoffing sound.

"Well, you know what they say about ass-umptions Bob. They only make an ass out of you." Snake smirked.

"Ah how I've missed that crude wit of yours! But you know, when my assumptions are right, they make not an ass of me, butt of you." Bob laughed as Snake's brows furrowed with what looked like confused irritation.

"Wha...?" muttered Snake.

"Really Snake... words never have been your friend have they?" Bob chuckled softly. "But you're a man of action and right now actions speak far better than words." Bob traced a finger down Snake's chest and across the Middlebury logo on his shirt, feeling the impressively hard pecks beneath with appreciation. Snake pushed Bob's hand away.

"Bro... this is totally not the time or place so if you're feeling a little randy you can just deal with it yourself. It's totally not my problem." said Snake with mild disgust apparent in his voice. Bob felt a bit flushed and embarrassed at the statement, that his actions might have come off as desperate.

"Why Snake, I' surprised at you... thinking I'm here purely for carnal reasons," said Bob. "Though that would be reason enough..." he added beneath his breath.

"Dude... I don't think you get it. In prison, things were like... different. In there, you were my bitch and it was fun for a while, but... I'm just not really into dudes so..." Snakes words trailed off.

"Wait a minute... y-your... bitch?" asked Bob uncertainly, taking a step back as hurt and anger began to simmer just below the surface.

"Yeah, you heard me. I assumed you knew that right? I mean... shoving you around all the time, throwing you into the dryer, dumping trays of food on you, and pretty much having my way with you wasn't enough of a hint? Like... don't get me wrong, it was fun, but it was a fantasy. This is real life dude." said Snake. "Maybe if you got down on one knee and begged, then I might consider taking you up on your offer, but until then-"

"I certainly will not beg!" Bob loudly interjected, appalled by the very notion. "Incarceration or no, I, Robert Underdunk Terwilliger, will play no subservient Ganymede to any man unless it's in a theatrical production!"

"Yeah..." Snake began, "I'll remember that next time we share a cell together and your lips are wrapped around my hard-"

"You son of a bitch! How dare you!" Bob clutched the front of Snake's vest and forcefully shoved him against the door, hoping to inflict as much pain with that shove as possible. The torturous moan from Snake at the impact was quite satisfying so Bob gave him another hard shove.

"Dad? What's going on out there?" came a child's voice from inside the house. Bob gave Snake a scalding stare, gritting his teeth as Snake stared back at him with the smallest trace of fear in his eyes which fueled Bob's excitement even more.

"Nothing kid... just stay inside. I'll be there in a minute," Snake called back, still pinned against the door by Bob's vice-like grip. Snake may have the most physical strength of the two, but Bob had the highest threshold of adrenalin-fueled rage, far surpassing Snake's strength any day.

"Look, bro." Snake took a deep breath, loosing some of his former arrogance and averting his eyes from Bob, "I've got Gloria who I'm currently trying to work things out with again and I've got my kids over for visitation right now and I don't want to mess this up. The thing we had is like... soooo over now that it's not even funny."

"No..." Bob paused dramatically, "It's not over because there never was anything between us to begin with," said Bob softly as he loosened his grip, quickly loosing interest in conversing with his old friend any further. He took a step back and took the liberty of smoothing out Snake's vest from where he'd bunched it up.

In their more recent lock-ups, Snake had been more aggressive and volatile towards him, but many years ago, there was a time when they seemed more like equals... friends even. Somewhere along the line, things changed and Snake began treating Bob less like an equal and more like a form of amusement. It was an arrangement that often kept the other convicts at bay, yet it was rather dehumanizing to be known as the lesser of Snake when on the outside, in the free world, they were the same, Bob perhaps even a little higher on the rung of society as far as intelligence was concerned. Then again, Snake was far more intelligent than people gave him credit for. He was a former archeologist after all.

"Oh... look Bob." Snake tilted his head as he looked off to the distance behind Bob. "Maybe you won't have to go home alone tonight; there's a whore over there flaunting her ass across the street with her sights set on you my friend." Snake smirked, hitting Bob on the shoulder in mock encouragement.

Bob looked over across the street to see a scantly clad lady of the night leaning against the pole of a streetlight, watching him intently and blowing him a kiss. The very thought of paying for it, especially from her sort made Bob's skin crawl. He growled with disgust as he left Snake's house and headed towards his car.

"Maybe some other time Bob," he heard Snake call out from behind, but Bob didn't look back, merely waving a hand of acknowledgment as he walked to his car.

For Snake to actually perceive him as shamelessly throwing himself at him was even more humiliating than anything. He certainly wasn't that desperate, he merely misinterpreted the level of intimacy that their friendship had permitted. He hadn't considered that things would be any different outside of the prison walls. He hadn't gone there with the sole intent of a sexual encounter, though the possibility was certainly an enticing one, all he wanted was a distraction, anything to stop the barrage of confusion he felt over Bart.

Just sitting in his own car conjured up images of the blond youth that he knew were far too dangerous to entertain. Those lips, boldly capturing his own. The boy had far too much bravery and lack of impulse control for his own good and it had really surprised him. Bart used to seem so untouchable, like some prized buck to be mounted on his wall, never to be touched, only to be hunted down and tormented... but never touched. It was both frightening as well as dangerously exciting. Bob revved the engine of his car before setting course for home.

Some part of him even denied the fact that he even felt such confusing feelings such as attraction, lust and even camaraderie for the Simpson boy when feelings of repulsion, irritation, and sadistic intent were always so much easier to live with and accept.

- o - o - o -

It was a confusing time in his life. He was divorced, he hadn't seen his son Gino, who was now nine, in over a year, and a certain spiky haired youth was playing tricks with his mind... or heart; he wasn't sure which. He was supposed to hate Bart, it was like the law of nature. After all, it was a predator's lot in life to hunt the prey and to enjoy it to the fullest.

Even while he was ready to rip him to shreds, there was something about Bart that made his heart falter with every emotion all at once and it was an odd feeling that made him want to leave Springfield all together and start anew just as he had when he'd left for Tuscany. To run away was the only thing one could have done. It was unhealthy that he had so readily allowed his life to revolve around one boy while all semblance of a normal life was shattered.

Somehow, deep down, he'd accepted the fact that he'd never be able to kill Bart, but it was the fantasy and the glory of it that excited him. Perhaps one day he really would be pushed to far, but for now, the fantasy was enough.

Bob sat on the couch in his living room, heels propped up on the coffee table with one foot crossed over the other. His arm hung over the armrest of the couch, the cigar between his fingers actively filling the room with a foggy haze as he watched the sunset from his second story window. He needed to speak with Bart, in person, over the phone, through e-mail, what ever it took. He knew if he didn't talk to him soon that it would simply drive him insane even more so than he already considered himself to be.

His mind was going crazy with thoughts of outrageous murder plots involving Bart and his friend and the fact that there might be someone out there plotting some of the very things he'd plotted in the past hit a little too close to home. He didn't care much for Bart's blue haired, bespectacled friend, but the fact that Bart might possibly be involved in someone else's sinister schemes had him reeling. Bart was his territory and no one else would dare involve him in some sick murder plot on his watch. The enticing lure of such a mystery really set off the detective instinct in him and he was dying for answers. He didn't know why he suspected something, but he had a hunch that this wasn't just a random hit and run.

He took one last puff of his cigar and leaned forward, outing it in his ashtray. He ran his fingers through his hair as thoughts of actually calling Bart on the phone ran through his head, urging him to pick up his phone and dial. If Bart could be so bold as to actually kiss him, the one man that had brought him such torment and likely many sleepless nights, then surely Bob himself could manage a simple phone call in the name of solving a good mystery. His fingers itched as he looked at his phone on the coffee table, but he didn't pick it up. He wouldn't. Not yet anyway. Milhouse could likely be in the hospital for another day or two so he could always bump into Bart there to get more information on the crime... and of course, seeing Bart again would no doubt be a stimulating experience.

He headed to his room and turned on his computer. Once it booted up, he opened a page which was connected to a live CCTV monitoring feed. It was doubtful that the old camera he had installed years ago would still even work since it was embedded within a simple electrical wall outlet attachment, the kind people add to the outlet to allow for more cords to be plugged in.

In all likelihood, Bart would have unplugged it by now. He first installed it the last time he'd attempted to plot against Bart about two years ago. Back when thoughts of Bart haunted his nearly every waking hour and sadistic fantasies infested his very dreams; it was the only way he'd managed to constrain his insanity.

He was surprised when the page actually loaded. The screen displayed Bart's room and he watched as Bart sat on his bed, bouncing a soccer ball off of his wall. His room had changed a bit and he could still see the discolorations on the wall where the old Krusty poster used to be by the window, though the walls were still that shockingly appalling shade of pink.

He took a deep breath as he watch Bart throw the ball one last time before flipping over onto his back and burying his face into his pillow, his shoulders shaking slightly as if he were crying. He looked even more like a little kid in that moment instead of a 17 year old and Bob felt a rare moment of shame over bearing witness to such a private moment, yet he couldn't force himself to look away.

What was Bart crying about? He had an idea that it was probably a little bit of everything and not just one thing that had happened in particular. After all, the teenage years weren't an easy time for most. Bart seemed like a troubled young man and Bob never did find out just why he'd nearly drank himself to death and passed out on the side of the road and he had the feeling that the reason would probably be more personal than Bart would be willing to share.

As Bart finally stilled his movements and laid motionless on his stomach, a black cat ran into the room and settled down on his back to go to sleep. With nothing interesting happening on the screen, Bob's thoughts traveled back to earlier that day, a time that now seemed almost unreal. Of Bart's lips against his, the sweet taste of such forbidden fruit that he'd never dreampt would be so attainable, nor so desirable.

Sitting there in that car with Bart earlier that day, his heart raced unexpectedly as Bart hesitated to get out. Bart had looked so vulnerable in that instance, so shaken by his friend's car accident and when their eyes met, Bob licked his lips, his body urging him to move closer which he did automatically, without much forethought. What he didn't expect was for Bart to lean in too and aim for his lips, his whole body in shock for a moment at the realty and tangibility of Bart's mouth suddenly capturing his. It was like being struck by an unexpected shock wave of desire that he wanted to ride all the way to the end no matter how much his mind protested.

He had greedily and shamelessly allowed himself to kiss Bart, to run his fingers through his hair and take from him whatever he wanted and for Bart to respond in kind was not only icing on the cake, it also left him a little shaken. This really wasn't just a game anymore and he knew that he had crossed a line for which there could be no return. Bart was a bold young lad, that he was certain.

Bob's attention centered back to the monitor, to where Bart pushed the cat off of himself and turned around to sit up on the edge of his bed. Bart said something, but Bob had the volume turned down so he couldn't really hear it. Bart then wiped his eyes with his hand before tugging his shirt up and over his head and tossing it onto the floor.

Bob shook his head and smirked as he looked away from the screen. The last thing he needed to see in that moment was more of Bart's exposed flesh so he moved to exit the program, but hesitated for a moment longer, unable to exit as he became mesmerized by the sight of Bart standing up and shimmying out of his jeans, kicking them aside. Next Bart took off his underwear and socks, pulled back the covers and got into bed.

Bob laughed quietly to himself at the view of Bart's backside, likely the most seen posterior of any Springfield citizen outside of the strip clubs since the boy had enjoyed flashing it so often. Of course Bart would be one to sleep in the nude on such a hot, humid night. Bob cut the video off and took a deep breath before deciding to put and end to one seriously confusing day by turning in for the night himself and at least attempting to get some sleep, though he new it would be difficult.

- o - o - o -

Bart didn't know exactly why he was laying there on his bed crying. He wasn't sad, he wasn't afraid of anything. Perhaps the stress of the day had finally gotten to him. He was tired and confused and his parents had been in their room yelling at each other for nearly an hour after they'd gotten home from visiting Milhouse and he knew their house guests, which were still living under their roof, must know that much of the arguing centered around them.

Then there was Bob. How stupid had he been to actually kiss the man that had haunted his nightmares for much of his childhood. Regardless of how attractive he now found the ex-clown to be, it was still a foolish move and now Bob was going to go around with that smug look like he knew Bart had a thing for him. Yes, Bob held all the power now, the cards were in his favor and it made him hate Bob even more.

How would he be able to face him now given the circumstances? Maybe a better question would be, why did Bob seem to enjoy the kiss so much? Bart had kissed quite a few girls in his life, but never had he kissed anyone with such passion that made him want to cry out at the sheer level of it which he was pretty sure he had at one point. Bob had certainly made his appreciation clear. He could still feel Bob's hands on him, griping his hair tightly as that ever persistent tongue did things that made his insides melt and the blood rush to his... no he had to stop thinking about it!

Chance, the black cat that had claimed Bart, jumped onto his back while he laid there motionless. The cat stood on his back and stomped around in circles for a moment before finally deciding to settle down there and go to sleep for the night.

"Oh no Chance. You're not sleeping on top of me tonight... it's hot as sin in here!" said Bart as he shook the cat off of him and sat up on the edge of the bed, wiping his eyes with his hand where the tears had fallen. He hiked his red t-shirt up over his head and threw it onto the floor, then he stood up and undid his blue-jeans, shaking a few times as they slid down his hips. It was so hot in there and he was so tired from such a stressful day that he took of the rest of his clothes and got into bed, pulling the thin sheet over himself just in case anyone should happen to stop by his room unexpectedly.

- o - o - o -

Donning all black, Bob expertly scaled the tree in the backyard of 742 Evergreen Terrace. It was like a tightrope walk across the branch that led to Bart's window, but it was much safer than going through the front door. When he reached across to slide up the window, he almost lost his balance, waving his arms a few times as he managed to secure a firm footing on the branch. He reached a foot out to rest on the window sill, easily sliding the window open and slipping in as silently as a stalking panther. His heart was beating fast at the possibility of getting caught, but he loved it! He loved every minute of the thrill that came with taking such a risk!

It was well past midnight and he simply couldn't get to sleep. He was convinced that no one would want to kill Milhouse; he was just too boring and no one would want to risk throwing their life away in prison for that little twerp. No, only someone like Bart Simpson would provoke enough fury for that; even most of his teachers hated him. He needed answers that just couldn't wait until morning. Forget sleep!

Bob silently crept closer to the sleeping form, his breath catching in his throat at the sight before him. The teen slept on his back with one arm up over his head on the pillow, undoubtedly nude with white sheets just barely covering his nether regions. A light sheen of sweat shimmered across his skin from the nighttime summer heat and the moonlight as it leaked in from the window. Bob carefully moved towards the door and locked it before coming back to take another look at the sleeping Adonis that he hated to awaken, yet he couldn't just stand there observing either. He had to shake such thoughts from his mind if he were to ever get to the bottom of this attempted murder mystery.

Now, how to awaken the boy without him making a sound? He didn't have any tape with him, though taping Bart's mouth wouldn't go very far in getting him to trust him enough to talk. Bob cautiously leaned over Bart and reached a hand over his face, hovering there for a moment as he tried to gather the courage. Bart unexpectedly moved a little in his sleep and opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times as he saw Bob standing over him, his hand barely and inch from Bart's mouth, both of them frozen in time for a moment.

Bart gasped, thankfully not making much of a sound before Bob managed to clamp his hand over Bart's mouth firmly. Bart struggled a bit and Bob found it much more difficult to subdue him than last time considering how much Bart had grown.

"Don't... ugh... don't panic." urged Bob, his words only making Bart struggle even more, his eyes wide with a fear that Bob was all too familiar with. It was a look of fear that always gave him a huge rush and it was intoxicating, yet he knew that now was not the time to indulge himself.

"Mmmph mmm!" came Bart's panic stricken, muffled cry from beneath Bob's hand.

"Don't... don't make a sound... Bart." Bob struggled as Bart tried to pry Bob's hand away from his mouth while trying to kick him with his feet which were tangled in the sheet. Bob leaped onto the bed, pressing his weight on top of Bart to keep him from struggling, all the while knowing that if he let go of his mouth, he would likely yell for help. This definitely wasn't going as smoothly as Bob had planned.

"I'm not here... mmph... to hurt you. I... I just want to ask a few questions." Bob managed to mutter between the struggle, gaining a little more control over Bart until the boy finally relinquished all control and stopped fighting.

"Now promise you won't make a ruckus?" Bob asked, eyebrows raised authoritatively. Bart muttered a muffled 'mmm hmm' in response.

"Alright." Bob carefully removed his hand and Bart didn't make a sound, but if looks could kill, Bob would have been dead on the spot with the irritated glare that Bart was giving him, his chest rising and falling from the intense struggle. Bob was a bit breathless as well.

"What is you're problem you sick twisted bastard? Planning on becoming a rapist as well as an attempted murderer?" Bart spat venomously, a hint of humiliation in his voice.

"If I were to rape you, I would have done so long before now dear Bart." said Bob calmly from above him, remaining rather unaffected by the accusation. "To be honest... I couldn't sleep. The circumstances involving Milhouse's accident seemed somewhat suspicious and it's been driving me mad all night." Bob spoke barely above a whisper, conveniently leaving out any mention of other reasons for his insomnia, namely Bart himself.

Bart stared silently up at him with mixture of fear, irritation and... was that embarrassment? Bart's cheeks were so red and it took Bob a moment to realize that he was still straddling the naked teen and their position was highly suspect. Bob climbed off of him and sat down at the edge of the bed facing away from Bart to give him a little more privacy to cover himself up.

"Dammit Bob! This is just insane! First you come into my room like some creeper, then pin me to the bed like... like the creep that you are! And in the middle of the night at that!" yelled Bart, standing behind where Bob sat with his back to him on the edge of the bed. "Who does things like that?" Bart ranted exasperatedly.

"Shh... keep your voice down!" Bob urged him. He could see Bart in the mirror crossing the room to pick up a baseball bat so Bob stood up and turned to face him with his hands up passively.

"Why are you here then Bob? To watch me sleep?" Bart laughed, the hollow sound a little sarcastic and slightly hysterical.

"It's about your friend in the hospital." Bob answered, crossing his arms behind his back, his brows furrowed with concentration as he examined several facts that were all ruminating in this mind.

"W-what about him?" asked Bart warily.

"Well, why would someone want to kill Milhouse of all people? If anyone has provoked enough fury in this town, surely it would be you. I suspect that there are dozens if not hundreds of people that would like to see you murdered."

"Wow, thanks a lot," said Bart, lowering the bat somewhat as he stood there in front of Bob. Bob could see Bart observing him, eying him suspiciously all over, no doubt looking for a weapon or perhaps even checking him out. Bob let out a quick chuckle.

"No I didn't mean that as an insult. I mean, think about it." Bob brought his hands forward to gesture while he spoke, the action making Bart take a step back defensively. Bob continued. "Maybe this somehow revolves around you? Maybe there is some enraged psychopath out there that knows the one way to truly hurt you is through bringing harm to the people you care for the most."

"And maybe someone has been watching a little too much Criminal Minds for their own good!" Bart butted in, setting his bat down on the bed and gripping his sheet tighter around himself. "Things like that don't normally happen in real life Bob! Maybe it really was just a case of hit and run and now the person that hit Milhouse is just too afraid or ashamed to come forward."

"Hmm... that may be. But what if I'm right? Your life... and the lives of your friends and family could be in danger," said Bob gravely. Bart squinted his eyes, a look of mistrust and confusion on his face.

"Hmph... why do you care? You've always wanted me dead anyway," said Bart.

"No... not dead. There was a time that perhaps that statement would have been true, but now I've come to know that there are things far more painful than death... though, you always manage to provoke the murderous side of me more often than not." Bob smirked. "Perhaps our potential murderer feels the same way."

"Why would this keep you up at night? Is your life that void of anything else to keep you occupied?" Bart asked, finally relaxing enough to sit down on the edge of the bed.

"At the moment yes," Bob admitted as he stood near the door, pacing a couple of steps as he spoke. "When I devote myself to something, I do so fully so I expect to see this mystery out to the very end. If there really is a potential murderer out there they shall have to find some other prey to victimize, because you're mine." said Bob through gritted teeth, his eyes averted to the window as he became lost in thought and not really realizing what he'd said until he caught sight of Bart's wide eyed expression.

"My prey that is..." Bob quickly amended.

"Why don't you just take up a drug habit like all the rest of the insomniacs with nothing better to do. Maybe that will take up some of you're time so you'll leave me alone!"

"Oh surely you don't really mean that Bart. I do have interests other than tormenting you. Besides... I've already got a drug habit that's been causing me quite enough trouble over the years as it is." said Bob, chuckling quietly.

"Oh...?" asked Bart curiously, surprisingly concerned.

"Yes. And his name is Bart Simpson." Bob flashed him a small grin, "With all of the energy and sleepless nights I've wasted on you..."

"Okay... now that's just creepy..." Bart interrupted, shaking his head, though Bob could see what looked like a smile threatening to emerge. "It seems we both have lost a lot of sleep over our... rivalry." said Bart as if searching for the right word. And it did fit, for lack of a better way to define what they were.

"Indeed. And how do you think I deal with it?" asked Bob.

"Wank off?" Bart shrugged. After letting the words hang in the air for a moment, Bart burst into laughter. Bob bit his lip in an attempt to restrain his own amusement as he tried to shush Bart lest they could be heard.

"Quiet now... but seriously Bart. Has anything suspicious happened lately? Have you or Milhouse had any conflicts with anyone prior to the accident?" asked Bob.

"Well... Yeah. There was this one man that Milhouse mentioned earlier. His boyfr..." Bart hesitated.

"Go on," urged Bob.

"Well... Milhouse told me about it the other day not too long before the accident. His... friend's father did threaten to kill him if they remained... uh..." Bart stalled hesitantly.

"Go ahead and say it, 'his boyfriend's father'. I couldn't care less if your little friend is gay Bart, but knowing that fact does help to put some perspective on the situation."

"Really?"

"Yes. Romance... love... along with it often come emotions like hate... and violence. Love and hate often go hand in hand." said Bob. Bart looked away shyly at the statement. If anything the words love and hate described Bob and Bart in a nutshell. The luv/hat tattoo on Bob's hand stood as a testament to that.

"Especially in regards to family members that may be opposed to the relationship," Bob continued. "Just look at Romeo and Juliet's familial dispute. Perhaps the man was against his son going out with Milhouse. Maybe he was a bit of a homophobe. Maybe he simply didn't like Milhouse... which is understandable," Bob added with a sly smirk.

"Hey! He's my friend! I get enough ridicule for that from people as it is!" said Bart defensively.

"I'm beginning to get a clearer picture now. Is there anything else that you remember that may have seemed out of place?" asked Bob. Bart's eyes suddenly grew dark as if remembering something... something dreadful that he only just remembered, but maybe he wanted to forget. A repressed memory of some sort.

"What? What is it?" asked Bob urgently, placing his hands on both of Bart's shoulders.

"No... it's nothing," said Bart, looking down to his lap and shaking his head. Bob shook him gently.

"Tell me! I know it's something and it may be just the lead needed for me to solve this!" said Bob imploringly. He wasn't sure exactly why he needed these answers, but he'd committed to it this far, he might as well see it through to the end especially when the cops could very well decide to pin the crime on him as they were so fond of doing in the past. Bart swallowed, preparing to speak.

"That night you brought me to your house... something happened." Bart looked up at Bob briefly before continuing. Bob's hands slid away from Bart's shoulders as he listened, taking the opportunity to sit down onto the bed next to him. "Something I'd almost forgotten about with all the drama that's happened lately. It all started when Milhouse came over and he... we had a little disagreement and I kicked him out of my house... out of my life really and I felt so guilty about that afterwords, especially after the accident. I yelled at him, but I didn't really mean anything that I'd said since I was a little caught up in the moment. The next thing I knew, I ended up having a little too much to drink over at Nelson's house and as I staggered home, I remember seeing something."

"What was it?" Bob asked eagerly. Bart stared down at his hands as he spoke.

"It was a person in a driveway dragging out a big black trash bag and hurling it into a car. Naturally, I assumed it was a dead body since that's the kind of thing you see in the movies."

Bob listened on as Bart recounted the night in question. Of when he flipped the hood of his jacket over his head when the man noticed him and how he fell over into the grass of someone's front lawn and heard a car driving by just as he'd lost consciousness. Bob listened to it all in silence as all of the information sunk in, filing it away in his mind for closer inspection later on. It all had to be connected in some way, he just knew it. It was just a matter of connecting the dots.

* * *

><p><strong>A. N. - The title Stage Fright hasn't played much of a factor in the story so far. Really, it was mostly just a prompt to get me started on the fic, but hopefully it will make sense soon when Bart causes trouble for the drama class and as a punishment, is forced to take drama the next semester.<strong>

**There was a hint of Snake/Bob in this chapter and I'm starting to realize how awesome it would be to read more about them and their time in prison and outside of it. Maybe someday I will write it since I'm slowly becoming even more of a fan of Snake Jailbird aka Chester Turley. He seriously needs more airtime on the show.**

**I had no idea what a creep Bob could be until I started this... then again, perhaps it's just the way I write him? Anyway, there we have chapter 14 and it was quite an entertaining chapter to write! Thanks for reading!**


	15. Dreamers Often Lie

**Chapter 15: Dreamers Often Lie**

In his darkened room, Bart sat on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor and his elbows resting on his knees as he told Bob all of the details that his hazy memory could provide of the scene he'd witnessed.

"I remember that my last thoughts before loosing consciousness were full of regret. Regret for yelling at Milhouse. I had no idea that things were about to end up like... like that. That Milhouse would end up..." Bart looked down to his hands, forgetting for a moment that this was Bob that he was spilling his innermost thoughts to. He took a deep, steadying breath, closing himself off a little. Really, Bob had asked him about the potential crime he had witnessed, not a complete rundown of his emotional state and of his tentative relationship with Milhouse. Bob cleared his throat, likely feeling awkward at the emotional display himself.

"Did you recognize the man dragging the black bag?" asked Bob, steering them back to the subject at hand for which Bart was thankful. Bart shook his head.

"No, my memory is kind of fuzzy." Bart paused briefly, taking a second to glance up as Bob shifted on the bed and leaned his back against the headboard, one foot under him and the other still on the floor. "but I do remember that he seemed familiar and the house and street and everything else seemed familiar too..." Bart added, finding it becoming increasingly difficult to talk with Bob now facing him with his arms crossed and listening intently.

There's no need for so many 'ands' in one sentence. One would have been sufficient," Bob added offhandedly and with a surprising lack of the usual condescension. Bob brought a hand to his own mouth, skimming his fingers across his lip as if in contemplation, effectively drawing Bart's attention to it and of when he had kissed those lips not too long ago. Whether it was a conscious effort on Bob's part, he knew not.

"What about the car?" asked Bob. "Do you remember the model? The color?" Bart swallowed, looking back down to his hands and trying to keep it all professional, yet all he could think about was those lips, and the urgency with which Bob had reciprocated his purely impulsive and confused affections. Being in such close proximity after that was like having that proverbial 'elephant in the room'. The silent consensus for the moment seemed to be to ignore it.

"It was a black car," Bart continued after a long silence. "I believe it was a four door, but I'm not completely sure. After I fell, I heard a car coming back and slowing down next to me, but... I lost consciousness. It may have just been another car driving by and slowing down curiously." added Bart in haste, making a conscious effort not to look at Bob for any prolonged length of time.

"Would you... recognize the place... and the car if you saw it again?" asked Bob slowly, distractedly. God, that voice. What was wrong with him for being so hung up on the man's voice? A thing that averting one's line of site would not remedy. Especially when he spoke so slowly, reclining back like he was and in Bart's own bed, of all places.

"What?" Bart shook his head, vaguely aware that that voice that he'd been so entranced by was actually saying something. This all had to be the after effect of that kiss; it would wear off eventually right?

"Would you recognize the place and the car if you saw it again?" Bob repeated, sitting up a little straighter and leaning towards him. Oh god, what was he doing? Bart panicked. Bob's eyes narrowed with confusion, or maybe suspicion at Bart's reaction.

"Are you alright Bart? You seem a little... jumpy," said Bob with a slight smirk. Bart relaxed a bit when he realized that Bob was just moving to sit in a more comfortable position. Just the man's sudden movement made him flinch still, only now, for more reasons than simply a fear for his own life.

"I'm fine... this is just... a little strange. This whole thing," said Bart.

"What 'whole thing'?" Bob laughed, uncrossing his arms and shrugging innocently. Bob knew what 'whole thing' he was talking about. He wasn't that dense by a long shot. That kiss was hanging in the air between them like a thick fog of impulsive desire and confusion. Something they just couldn't ignore and as much as Bart wanted to, he was finding the task difficult.

"Nothing... It's nothing," said Bart irritably, shaking his head. Bob wasn't about to get him to admit to anything. Only on his own terms would he ever do such a thing because Bob would NOT get the upper hand in this game of wills and he'd make sure of it! Why did there always have to be this constant 'tug-o-war' rivalry between them? And why was it so damn thrilling and irritating at the same time?

"Bart... your biliousness is showing," said Bob. Bart's eyes widened with shock.

"Wha...?" Bart gasped, doing a quick reevaluation of himself and of the sheet he had draped carefully around himself, seeing nothing out of place. He sat confused for a moment until he heard deeply amused, muffled laughter coming from Bob and shaking the bed.

"You're as gullible as Cecil!" Bob laughed heartily, holding his sides as he was unable to control his amusement until the man's muffled laughter became boisterous cackling. A moment later, a loud knocking could be heard along with Homer's voice.

"Hey! Turn down that sitcom with the unrealistically cheesy laugh-track!" Homer's voice sounded thunderously throughout the house causing Bart to flinch, yet Bob remained ultimately unphased... like last time. Last time being when Bob had sneaked into his window at night and his dad had heard the man singing. It felt like ages ago, yet here they were again, years later and still the same. Almost. Now there was a tension that he had never noticed before that may have been there to begin with. One that grew in intensity until just being in the same room with the man was almost unbearable and Bart was uncertain just what it really was. Could this be what they call 'sexual tension'? With Bob? No way.

"No way in hell is this..." Bart said aloud, stopping just before accidentally uttering the words 'sexual tension'. Words that echoed in his mind and danced on the tip of his tongue so dangerously. "You know, I had a dream the other day." said Bart, deciding that a change of topic was in order, but why oh why did he have choose that subject? Bart instantly regretted it; there was no way that he would be able to bring himself to tell Bob of his nightmare he'd had of him. He wouldn't give Bob the satisfaction.

"And so did I," said Bob automatically, catching Bart off guard. Bob had had a dream too? He was almost afraid to ask. Almost.

"Really? What was yours about?" asked Bart, his eyes squinted with suspicious curiosity.

"That dreamers often lie," said Bob smoothly.

"Well... duh. In their beds asleep they 'lie' and dream..." Bart stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "While in a way... the dream itself is a lie..." said Bart slowly, tossing the words around and reexamining them in a different way. "Was that some kind of... word trickery again?" asked Bart irritably.

"You almost had it my young and foolish Romeo. You almost had it." said Bob, leaning forward and moving to crawl closer to Bart, causing the boy to flinch back slightly as Bob extended his hand and brushed the side of his cheek, as he seemed so fond of doing lately. "Just promise me this: Don't die unless it is by my blade... and not by thine own poison or that of thy fair maid." said Bob with a slightly wicked grin. "No life can equal such a... little death."

"Bob what are you..."

"Shh..." Bob whispered, placing a finger on Bart's lips to silence him, and sending a shock wave coursing through him at the sudden contact. Bart leaned back on his hands to balance himself.

"Perhaps foreshadowing ones potential fate... wouldn't be the wisest thing," Bob's deep, baritone voice ensnared him once more, seeping through him, his face growing red hot from Bob being so dangerously close again. "for I fear of what some consequence, yet hanging in the stars may bring." Bob continued, moving his finger away from Bart's mouth and letting his hand barely skim across the side of his face.

"Are... are you... trying to scare me?" Bart managed to choke out in an attempt to bring himself down to reality.

"Is it working?" Bob uttered, barely an inch away now in the dark stillness of the night, his voice suddenly showing the same momentary panic that Bart felt inside, yet Bob's seemed to reveal a certain unbridled fervor at the mention of the word 'fear'. Bart found himself unable to respond for a moment and he could tell that something was about to happen as Bob's fingers stroked the side of his face and the thought was actually exciting for a moment. A moment where he almost forgot himself as he fell under Bob's spell.

Bob's breathing was noticeably more rapid as was his own. As he felt the moment reluctantly slipping away, Bart was somewhat in a state of denial that he was even feeling such things for the man; however; Bob was the first to break eye contact.

"Damn..." cursed Bob under his breath.

Bart let out a little exasperated laugh to shake off the nervousness as Bob pulled away from him and sat back down on the other side of the bed, running his fingers through his wild, burgundy hair as he battled with himself for some semblance of dignity and self control. Bart took a deep breath as his mind was still spinning. They hadn't even kissed and yet, Bart still felt what could only be described as afterglow as his breathing stabilized to a normal rhythm.

"Those were actually some of my best lines." Bob added quietly after a long silence.

"R-really?" Bart's voice cracked embarrassingly as he responded a little too quickly, eager for the conversation to hopefully steer them away from what had almost occurred. "You wrote all of that?" asked Bart with an inexcusable amount of fascination that he hadn't meant to express. Bob was already full of himself as it was. He didn't need Bart fawning over his every word.

"The later half. The beginning I shan't lay claim to." said Bob quietly, one could even say meekly. Apparently the 'almost' second kiss had had an effect on him as well. Bart couldn't help but gawk at him for a moment.

Bob finally stood up from where he sat in the darkened room and Bart watched him in silence, wondering what was going through the man's mind to suddenly go from taking control of the situation involving Milhouse's hit and run incident, to almost kissing him again. He wanted to trust Bob, but his nagging paranoia simply wouldn't let him. Not yet anyway. Bob cleared his throat.

"I'm going to pay a little visit to Milhouse soon as well. I think that he may hold the key to unlocking this mystery," said Bob, fiddling uneasily on the hem of his black sweater. Bart cringed at the thought, knowing how Milhouse felt at the mere mention of Bob at the moment.

"Um... don't you think I should talk to him? To be honest... he doesn't like you very much right now. In fact he's been ragging on me for tailing you the last few months, but... I..." Bart's words slowed to a halt.

"Tailing me you say?" asked Bob, his interest piqued and his confidence gaining a marked boost at the thought. "Getting a tad bit obsessive now aren't we?" Of course Bob already new all about his afternoon sleuthery, but it was embarrassing just bringing it up again. Bob already new a lot of things about him that he shouldn't.

Bob smirked as he made his way to the open window. Bart's eyes followed him, remembering the last time Bob had come into his room and left through the same window in an eerily similar fashion.

"What no serenade this time?" asked Bart, unable to help himself as Bob stepped onto the window ledge.

"Maybe next time." Bob flashed him a small grin before stepping through the window, jumping to the ground with such feline grace and vanishing into the night. Bart didn't lock the window this time.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. Yeah I know, shorter chapter than average, but I felt it ended naturally there and it's been a long while since I've posted anything. I hope you enjoyed and I'm back into the writing spirit again so I hope to post more soon.<strong>

**And as for some of Bob's best lines, several of them were quite suggestive and flew right over young Bartholomew's head! Bob's idea of dirty talk might seem quite tame to the unwitting.**

**To be continued.**


	16. I'll Find You

**Chapter 16: I'll Find You**

As usual, Bart's mind wandered all day during his classes. Thoughts of Bob: in the darkness of his room. His featureless, dark frame crowned by moonlight. Bob: on his bed after a deliciously tense conversation fueled by body language and an unspoken lust that was almost subliminal in nature. Bob: crawling towards him until it felt that time had suddenly come to a halt and all that existed was the painful tangibility of the empty space that existed between; the inevitable joining of their lips. Alas, it was not meant to be. The spell was broken far too early and it frustrated Bart just how intensely his body lamented over the fact, almost willing it to happen against his own better judgment. Such a traitor his emotions were proving to be.

It wasn't until he noticed that Mr. Dullman wasn't there to teach History that he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. It was all coming back in murky flashes. Somewhere in his inebriated state he had buried it away until now. The dastardly deed of which he had played witness to had been a constant specter for him recently, but now it was suddenly as clear as day just where it had taken place: Mr. Dullman's house.

He still couldn't quite remember the face of the person that had dragged that black bag in the distinctive shape of a body, dumping it into the trunk of the car, but facing the fact that Mr. Dullman was a little neurotic and strange in nature, the idea that he might be on the run for the murder wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility. He had to call someone! Anyone! He couldn't just keep this sudden realization to himself!

Bart had his phone under his desk, out of the substitute teacher's view. Not that her acknowledgment mattered; she was fast asleep, her cheeks wrinkling against the pile of forgotten tests. Away from her eyes Bart could message Milhouse who was soon to be discharged from the hospital. He scrolled through his contacts list for the Van Houten, but was prompted to stop when his vision caught a new number entered into his phone contacts. One that was simply titled: Bob.

"That sneaky bastard," muttered Bart under his breath. Bart wavered for a few tense moments. Should he text Bob? Should he tell him this sudden new information that he suspected his teacher to be a murderer on the run? After all, Bob had taken this mystery on like it had some special meaning to him. Struck with a sudden devil my care attitude, Bart finally proceeded to text him.

_Bart: Bob u sneaky bastard_

Bart typed, waiting on the edge of his seat for a response for the next couple of minutes.

_Bob: Oh? How ever did you acquire this number?_

Bart grinned. Being a pompous ass came so easily for the ex-clown. Bart struggled for a second to think of a response, fingertips lingering above the letters tentatively.

_Bart: I don't have time for this. I need to tell you something._

Bart hesitated and after Bob didn't message back for a bit, he began to elaborate.

Bart: I think I have some new info. Mr. Dullman isn't teaching today.

_Bob: I noticed._

Bart felt a familiar chill of paranoia creep up his spine. His eyes darted around the room and to the window, almost expecting to see Bob sitting in a tree somewhere peering in.

_Bart: So... don't you think that is suspicious?_

_Bob: I'm already on it. I've been researching some of your contacts._

Even though it was just a text, Bart could clearly imagine the possessiveness in Bob's voice. It had gone beyond just the case Bob was working. Now, there was this unspoken acknowledgment that Bob really was keeping an eye on him, stalking him as it were, under the guise of solving a mystery and they both knew it. As creepy as that was, for the first time it was strangely satisfying.

_Bart: Bob really, why are you doing this?_

_Bob: Because I can._

There was a long paused until either messaged again.

_Bob: I'm bored. Is that reason enough?_

Bart smirked, quickly pressing buttons on his phone.

_Bart: No._

It was plainly obvious that Bob needed an obsession. There was no way around that issue and if it took solving this case, a case that was likely just fabricated in Bob's own mind to keep him occupied, then what harm could it really do?

_Bob: I know what you are thinking Bart. I'm not fabricating all of this. I have reason to suspect that the crime you witnessed has a direct correlation to Milhouse's accident._

_Bart: whoa, mind... blown._

_Bob: Woah indeed. I'll be seeing you soon, Bart. Farewell for now._

_Bart: What? When?_

_Bob: I'll find you._

Bart bit his lip nervously. He hated to admit it, but Bob's suspicion might possibly have some merit to it, yet he didn't know whether to be comforted or not by the fact that Bob was on the case if it meant that he would be showing up out of the blue at any moment, day or night, as he had a penchant for doing.

- o - o - o -

A man donning 'borrowed' doctor's scrubs and a surgical mask, completely blending in with his surroundings, exited the elevator. One wouldn't have thought twice upon seeing him walking down the third floor corridor of Springfield hospital. Having checked in with a visitor's pass, he had changed into scrubs in the restroom and had exited without even one person batting a suspicious eye and he found it absolutely thrilling just how easily he had slipped past their radar.

It was way too simple passing by patient's rooms, most of them with their doors open. One could so easily slip right in and the hospital staff would be none the wiser. Setting sights on his target, room number 109, the man strode down the corridor with ease, his pace slowing as he neared the entrance. He could hear voices coming from the room. Perhaps his unfortunate soon-to-be victim had a visitor? The voice sounded young, like that of a young male.

"Thanks for visiting me Bart."

Bart? The name sounded so familiar to the man. He knew it was of some significance, but for the moment it was only a minor curiosity.

"You know I'm going to be released any time now so you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"No. I haven't been such a good friend lately so... I want to stay, Milhouse." said Bart.

"Damn." cursed the man, eavesdropping near the door just out of sight. It would make his task much more difficult now that the teen's friend was going to stick around. The man risked peeking in from the door and continued to listen. In his pocket he fiddled with the syringes, itching to hurry up and administer the lethal concoction to his target. Offing witnesses was a minor setback that plagued him occasionally, but it came with the territory. He would shed no tears for the dead tonight.

"Lately?" Milhouse's laugh was followed by an awkward silence. "You know, Bob came by earlier. He tried to make me identify the car that hit me, but..."

"But?" Bart prompted.

"I just couldn't remember. Everything happened so fast," said Milhouse, lowering his head and closing his eyes. "You know, it's true what they say... your life flashes before your eyes and... you... do you want to know something?"

"What?" asked Bart, his voice wavering nervously.

"Most of my most significant memories were centered around you. The last thing I remembered wasn't an image... it was a feeling." Milhouse lifted his gaze and looked back up at him.

"Um... o-okay?" Bart replied, unsure just how to respond to something like that.

"I'm sorry, Bart. I'm making you uncomfortable."

"Me? No way man! Wh... what feeling was it?" Bart stammered, as if he didn't even want to ask the question, but felt that he couldn't live without the answer.

"The feeling of when I kissed you."

"Oh... that." Bart scratched his arm nervously. At the rate this conversation was going Bart felt more than a little uncomfortable.

The man was getting impatient. Now it wasn't just a matter of killing. It was a matter of having to stand around listening to some kid confessing his love while all he wanted to do was to get home and go about business. He could sleep a lot easier knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about some overly emotional teen blabbing all that he saw to the cops!

"I don't regret it, you know. I do realize that the timing was a little bad though." Milhouse laughed awkwardly.

"Yeah... it sort of was." Bart agreed.

"We can still remain friends, right? It didn't change anything?"

"Well... it did change things. But I wouldn't exactly say for the worse..." Bart felt a bit embarrassed by the admission and he didn't really know what he was trying to say. Some part of him actually did enjoy that kiss a little too much, but part of him was hesitant since it was from Milhouse, the one person that has been his best friend for as long as he could remember.

"Really? Does that mean...?" asked Milhouse hopefully. Bart tore his eyes away from that pleading gaze, unwilling to let it affect him anymore than it already had. Even when Milhouse wasn't looking for pity he had the look of a scolded dog that just needed a little love.

"Ugh... don't look at me like that, Milhouse. It's not like... like I want it to happen again... but at the time... it was sort of, nice? In a strange kissing your brother... sort of way... which makes it not so nice... then again... I don't really see you as a brother exactly... so... It was... good." Bart winced at his level of nervous rambling.

"Bart, are you done?" Milhouse asked.

"Eh...yeah. I think I should shut up now," said Bart.

"You SO want me," Milhouse said, a smug grin on his face and Bart couldn't help but to laugh a little.

"Ugh...shut up, Milhouse!" Bart swatted him on the shoulder, eliciting a painful groan from the bruised Milhouse. "Oh, sorry!" Bart apologized.

It appeared that for the wolf in sheep's clothing, there would be no killing today if they didn't both just shut up and this Bart kid would hurry up and leave! He was getting very impatient and he wasn't a very pleasant man when he was kept waiting. He signed, reluctantly ready to resign himself to the deed at a later date until something stopped him in his tracks.

"You know that... thing... that I witnessed the other night near Mr. Dullman's house?" asked Bart.

"Yeah, Bob told me some details about that. He said that he thinks both crimes are connected, 'perpetrated by the same individual', as he put it."

The man couldn't believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, with the mention of Bob, he remembered where the name Bart came into play. This was THE Bob and Bart. He knew all too well of these two and all of their past history which was legendary. To think that he was about to attempt to kill Milhouse twice when all the while Bart was the one that had bared witness to the disposal of that body! This was actually better than he could ever have imagined! Bart was a much more fitting victim! One that held higher stakes for a man that he'd come to know as Bob.

If there was anyone from his past that deserved being manipulated, humiliated, and tortured, Bob was it. It was oh so perfect that now he would be able to dispose of a witness and finally be able to give that pretentious Sideshow Bob what he had coming to him all at the same time! He knew enough about Bob to know that the so called 'hardened criminal' had a little known weakness for a certain spiky haired kid. For a man that always claimed that he would kill Bart some day, Bob had never so much as harmed a hair on his head. To deny him the pleasure of killing Bart himself would be the ultimate revenge as well as the ultimate tragedy for Bob and his love/hate obsession!

All things considered, a change of plans were in order and it seemed that Milhouse, at least, would be spared to live another day.

- o - o - o -

After seeing to it that Milhouse was finally home and in good spirits, no sooner than he had exited the Van Houten residence, his phone beeped. Standing just out side the front door he read the screen, surprised to see that Bob had texted him again.

_Bob: I need you._

Bart laughed a little exasperated laugh, his blood racing as he wondered if Bob was somehow watching him at that very minute. The words of the text haunting him, teasing him. Everywhere he went Bob was this omnipotent force that was always following him. There was an eerie silence; the only sound was the wind whirring lightly amongst the treetops.

Bart took a moment to calm himself, walking off of the main path to lean against a tree before responding.

_Bart: Where the hell are you?_

"Forget this..." Bart spoke aloud to himself, annoyed by how Bob always managed to trump the level of his own creepiness more every time. Bart called Bob to speak to him personally. "Bob, where the hell are you?" Bart kept his voice remarkably steady despite how uneasy he felt inside.

"Closer than you think," said Bob, his chilling voice coming from somewhere just behind Bart rather than the phone. Bart jolted away from the tree as quickly as if it had burned him, suddenly finding himself face to face with the origin of that voice.

"Bob," Bart panted, his eyes wide. "When you said you'd find me, I didn't think you meant like this!" Bart looked behind him, spotting Bob's car parked not too far away.

"I have made plans in my investigation that require your assistance. Will you come, my young protégé or shall I make you come?"

"Uh... why did you have to say it like that?" said Bart in mock disgust. Bob rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Bart, must you always be so crass? I'm asking nicely, will you co- I mean go... with me?" Bob stared back at him hopefully.

"Do I have a choice?" asked Bart.

"Surprisingly, yes. In time, I may not be so generous." Bob grinned smugly. His eyes held a glint of mischief that Bart was reluctant to trust so easily. He was beginning to take Bob's hauntingly cryptic sense of humor at face value, yet some part of his insides still cringed when Bob said things like that.

"Well, the last time I was in that car with you..." Bart paused awkwardly. A blush crept across his face and he began to regret that he had even brought it up.

"Yes. I remember. " Bob's smoldering stare was almost too intense to behold, so much so that Bart wavered for a few seconds before dropping his gaze to the ground and wincing at his own words before he even spoke them aloud.

"Um... o-okay... I'll go with you." said Bart uncertainly, looking back up to meet Bob's eyes again.

"Fine. Nice to see you putting a little more trust in me." Bob turned to leave and stalled as he waited for Bart to follow and only started walking towards his car when he heard Bart's footsteps behind him.

"Is that wise?" asked Bart, laughing a bit despite the nervous feeling of butterflies swarming in his stomach.

"Probably not, but it's too late now." Bob laughed.

It was an awkward thing being back in the passenger seat of Bob's car. Bob had somehow managed to charm him enough that he had ended up in the man's car without even realizing where it was exactly that they where headed or why. It was thrilling, dangerous, and totally against his better judgment to give in to Bob's spell so easily again and it was only now, that he began to have second thoughts.

The car ride started off in silence. Bart occasionally stole a glance at Bob, catching Bob glancing at him too on several occasions which made his heart race every time.

"Um Bob? This silence is killing me. Can I turn on the radio or something?" asked Bart. At the stop light Bart noticed Bob's hand moving to his pocket and instinct made him flinch.

"Be my guest." Bob answered as he pulled from his pocket what appeared to be a switchblade. Bart instantly jumped back, pressing his back into the door at the sight of it! Bob gave Bart a look of confusion as he pressed the switch on the blade and flipped it open. Bart could feel the sweat beading up on his forehead at the sight of... wait... was Bob... combing his hair? It was a switchblade/comb?

Bart reached out and turned on the car radio, letting out a sigh of relief as he flipped through several stations frantically to get his mind off of the sight of Bob with anything that even remotely resembled a blade. He finally settled on some rap song that he thought had a pretty nice beat.

"Oh dear God... anything but rap." Bob whined when Bart stopped at the old Snoop Dogg song: Murder was the Case. Sure, it was a little unsettling to be listening to a song about murder and selling your soul to Satan while sitting next to Bob, but he'd heard the song plenty of times. It was just a song and nothing more.

He looked over to Bob, amused that the man was clearly irritated by his choice of music, but Bob said nothing more as next couple of minutes passed, the two traveling in almost companionable silence. It was already starting to get dark and Bart tapped his fingers to the beat as streetlights zoomed by and the first stars of the evening began to gleam above. As the song came to a close, Bob let out a sigh of relief.

"What? Let me guess. You'd rather listen to Bach or Beethoven, right?" Bart flipped through the stations, stopping on one that definitely wasn't classical, but sounded interesting. Razed in Black: Lust. The song had a dark, industrial-goth vibe to it. Once he heard the lyrics though, he suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. Lyrics like: 'This is love', 'sensual heat', 'take the blade and cut me deep', were all throughout the song. Bart moved to change the station, but Bob's hand caught his wrist, skin tingling at the sudden contact.

"No, wait. This song isn't half bad," said Bob in a low voice.

"Heh, you would like it, of course." Bart laughed, shaking his head. "I mean, bondage, stabbing, and inflicting pain is sort of... your thing, right?"

Bob smirked darkly at Bart's comment, but kept his eyes on the road.

"So... have you reported all that you have witnessed to the authorities yet?" Bob asked, his sudden voice startling Bart from his train of thought. "Told your family?"

"Um... no." Bart answered. "Bob, where are we going exactly?"

"I wondered when you would ask that. I had planned on going back to the scene... taking a look with you along with me."

"Wouldn't that be tampering with evidence?" Bart looked at Bob, slightly surprised that they would be going back... there. A place he wasn't really keen on revisiting just yet.

"It could be construed as that, yes, but it isn't officially a crime scene yet." Bob flicked his hair a little with his left hand. Bart found the action undeniably irresistible for some reason and incredibly distracting. He felt the urge to run his fingers through the wild bush that was Bob's hair, but he restrained it. "Besides, we're just going to take a look from a safe distance for now." Bob said at length.

- o - o - o -

Upon reaching their destination, the car rumbled to a stop on the side of the road. Bob didn't make a motion to undo his seat belt or anything yet, remaining in his seat and eying the front of Mr. Dullman's property from a few houses away. Bart cleared his throat.

"Bart," Bob began, keeping his voice low and his eyes steadily on the house up ahead. "There is a hat in the back seat. Put it on."

"What? Why?" Bart turned and looked into the back, spotting a blue and white baseball cap. He was thankful that it was just a simple hat and not something more Bob-like. He reached back and picked it up.

"What, no fedora or bowler hat?" Bart laughed, turning the cap around in his hands to inspect it.

"Well, we are going to be near a crime scene that you were the witness of... it would be wise to hide that distinctive hair of yours," said Bob. His keen eyes scanned the area looking for any sign of movement. Bob's state of hyper-awareness was putting him on edge, making him feel as if something could happen at any moment.

"I'm the one with distinctive hair? So says the walking palm tree!" Bart snorted with laughter.

"Just put it on and stop complaining!" Bob snatched the hat from Bart and leaned towards him to place the hat on his head. He froze in place as Bob straightened it and tucked in a few tufts of stray hair beneath it. Bart only dared to look at him through the corner of his eye, sensing the man's gaze lingering on his face a little too long to be coincidental as he tucked in one last bit of hair beneath the cap. Bart exhaled as Bob finally leaned back into his own seat and set his attention back to the house ahead.

Bart turned the cap backwards and looked out to the spot that Bob seemed to be watching which was Mr. Dullman's house. Bob opened the car door as silently as possible and got out.

"Bob? You sure it's safe to be there?" asked Bart warily.

"Afraid? You can stay in there if you like." Bob walked around to the front of the car and looked down to the grass on the side of the road. Bart got out and leaned against the door of the car, not one to be shown up by Bob.

"This is it. This is about where I tripped and fell," said Bart, indicating the location.

"Yes. This is where I found you." Bob scoffed disapprovingly. "Muddy and reeking with alcohol. You looked like a pathetic lump of garbage lying there."

"There is Mr. Dullman's house." Bart pointed, keeping his voice low. "That's where I saw a figure dragging the... thing... the..." said Bart, struggling to get the word out.

"The body," Bob finished. "Was Mr. Dullman the one that was dragging it?"

"I thought so at first, but now I'm not really sure," said Bart.

Bob scratched his head and walked around to the back of the car, leaning against it, appearing as if he were in deep thought over something. Bart didn't want to interrupt so he just remained still. By now it was fairly dark out. The only light in the sky were stars and the red tinge of the sun just about to dip below the horizon. Bob turned back around, looking over to the house.

"The red sedan there." Bob pointed. "That is Dullman's car and it is still here. The car you mentioned the body being placed in was black, right?

"Yes." Bart confirmed.

"Four doors?"

"Um... yes...," said Bart, eying Bob's car suspiciously. No, it couldn't have been Bob. He would have known by now, wouldn't he? After years of ducking palm tree shaped shadows and being paranoid of Bob's presence, he would have been able to sense it!

"Think back." Bob approached him, placing his hands on Bart's shoulders and staring him in the eyes. "What did you hear or smell? It was cold that night, wasn't it?

"Yeah. It was slightly chilly... I was drunk." Bart looked down to the ground. Bob withdrew his hand's from Bart's shoulders and Bart stepped away and walked around to the back of the car with his back to Bob. "I'm sorry... I just can't remember anything else. Can we j-just go? This place is starting to creep me out."

"Well, just wait a minute. We have learned quite a bit already. Mr. Dullman's red car is still here. If he were on the run, wouldn't he have driven his own car? At least a little ways before trading it off for a rental or even stealing a car? Either he would have dropped off the body somewhere or dumped the whole car into a body of water.

"Maybe the black car that I saw was his too?" asked Bart, turning to face him.

"No. He didn't have another car registered to his name and he hasn't rented a car. I've checked into it. Perhaps he borrowed a car, then again, he was a loner with no family, contacts and very few friends. It is unlikely," said Bob. "Either way, I think we may have identified who the body was."

"Oh?" Bart stared at him curiously.

"Dullman." Bob stated gravely.

"What? You're saying someone else did this? Someone murdered Mr. Dullman?" Bart couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It is a very probable. It is the theory I'm going with for the moment."

"But wait... Mr. Dullman was supposed to be the killer! I thought we were onto something!" Bart argued. "We can't just start all over with a new suspect!"

"Shh... keep your voice down. That is the way these things go sometimes, Bart," said Bob. To Bart it almost felt like a defeat. Like they were giving up on the best lead that had for this new theory that might not even be true.

"Why would someone want to kill him?" asked Bart. "Or Milhouse?"

"I... don't know.." Bob's words trailed off thoughtfully. His eyes landed back on Bart, staring at his shoulders and chest in a peculiar way. It was a little startling so Bart looked down to see what he was staring at. "Bart, weren't you wearing that very same jacket that night?" asked Bob.

"Yeah... so?"

Bob's eyes grew wide with alarm and without warning he launched himself towards Bart, shoving him up against the rear of the car while he struggled to open the back door. Once it came open he shoved Bart into the back seat, landing on top of the stunned young man.

"Ugh! What is your problem, dude?" Bart yelled as Bob loomed over him, straddling him.

"Your clothes! Take them off!" Bob demanded frantically.

"What?" asked Bart incredulously, his heart rate increasing at the feel of Bob's weight, of their shared heat.

"Your jacket, I meant." Bob shook his head, embarrassed at the slip of words. "Surely he saw you wearing it before!

"Well you didn't have to tackle me like a wild dog!" Bart placed his hands against Bob's shoulders, but he didn't give much protest when Bob pulled the garment up and over his head.

"Well I could have just let you stand out there like a big target!" Bob threw the jacket into the floor of the back seat. "Though I suppose you would have liked that, wouldn't you? You always have gotten a kick out of attracting the attention of unsavory individuals!" Bob yelled.

"Ugh... get... off. I could yell 'rape' you know..." said Bart, not really making any serious attempt to get out from beneath the man. This was likely to blow over soon anyway when Bob grew bored of his taunting; however, the thought of the knife, a real knife that he knew Bob never went anywhere without, was never far from his thoughts. It was a silent and threatening possibility whenever Bob was concerned.

"You would probably like that too, considering the level of arousal you are sporting at the moment." Bob sneered smugly, shifting his weight a bit to emphasize the embarrassing fact. The feel of Bob settled around an area that made it quite difficult to hide an oncoming arousal made denial an effort in futility.

"Dammit Bob! I'm not... it's not..." Bart's face grew hot from embarrassment. Bob actually acknowledging it was one thing, but now it was clear that he was going to use this as another form of humiliation. He would use this to win. To dominate. "You're one to talk! If anything you're initiating... this!" said Bart through gritted teeth.

"And what exactly is this?" Bob practically purred. Bart hated him for that, for his silky voice. He was unable to look up at Bob knowing that he was likely to break under that gaze. Exactly how he would break was something that he was afraid to find out. After a long silence Bart finally looked up to see that Bob's features had softened, the man's eyes raking over his body. There was no way that Bob was admiring him in that way; it had to be just another trick of his. Sure, Bob was obsessed with him, but physical attraction never seemed to play into the picture, unless it was something he had never noticed before.

"Funny... years ago, having you beneath me like this would have been the ultimate prize. Even better if you were tied and bound where you could barely move an inch while I traced my blade down your chest... hearing you scream... painting you red..." Bob's hauntingly cryptic words, the low husky tone with which he spoke, sent shivers down his spine. Bob traced his fingers down Bart's chest making him shamefully wish that his shirt wasn't in the way so that he could feel Bob's dangerous fingertips grazing his bare skin. He knew not why he felt such a desire, but he hated himself for it and Bob for making him feel it. "Only now, I unfortunately hold not a dagger... but a torch for you, burning brightly in the emptiness where I used to have a heart."

"Bob-" said Bart, stunned by the convoluted and poetic words which sounded something similar to a confession of love, but there was no way it could possibly be true. It had to be more complicated than that.

"How could the urge... to inflict such pain... coexist with other equally primal urges?" Bob looked down, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, seemingly talking aloud to himself. "The infatuation... the long buried hatred... From whence, does the proverbial 'line in the sand' begin?"

"What are you going to do to me?" Bart said automatically, his eyes fixed on Bob's face. At Bart's words the man seemed to snap to attention.

"If only I had a blade for which to draw that line." Bob traced a line with his fingertips across Bart's chest from left to right, leaving no doubt to what he was imagining. "Tell me, would the sight of my blade still make you squeamish? Would you... tremble beneath me?" Bob asked, the eagerness unmistakable in his voice. Bart couldn't respond; his voice simply wouldn't work as he felt frozen.

"Speak." Bob urged with an authoritativeness that Bart hadn't heard from Bob in years, not since the last time Bob had chased him down in a murderous rage. Bart swallowed, his breathing becoming more ragged.

"N-no. N-not afraid... not anymore." Bart panted, sounding unconvincing even to himself. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears; the adrenaline rush was like no other high achievable. He wondered if Bob felt the same way upon inflicting it. It was a feeling similar to that of one playing a zombie horror game, only this left him aroused and with the inability to speak in complete sentences.

"Bob..." Bart began. Bob silenced him.

"Shh. Perhaps I should... take you home before I regret something." Bob spoke, his voice husky and barely above a whisper.

"Regret saying... or doing?" asked Bart, trembling slightly.

"Both."

Before Bart could even comprehend anything, he felt Bob's hands drifting upwards along his sides, fingers creeping beneath his shirt and splaying against his bear skin as if Bob had somehow read his shameful desires. It felt rather invasive the way Bob always seemed to penetrate the mind, reading it like a book.

"Can there... be... no middle ground between... love and hate?" Bob swallowed, seemingly struggling with those last words.

Bart closed his eyes and took a deep breath, all the while trying to convince himself that this was really happening, that these were Bob's fingers that felt so delightfully electric to his skin, that he had allowed it willingly by placing himself so easily within Bob's reach.

Bart whined involuntarily when Bob's fingers left his bear skin only to drag lower across the bulge in the front of his pants. Bart gasped. His eyes flew open and were met with Bob's dark, smoldering gaze staring back at him. It was a intensity that only Bob possessed. One that he had seen many times in the past only this time, his eyes held a glint of something else. Something even darker and more thrilling. Something mischievous. He averted his gaze, unable to stand the intensity of it as always. Some part of him was shocked at his own inability to react, to push Bob away, yet another part was inexplicably urging him on, wanting more.

"I should... take you home...soon..." said Bob, slightly winded as he spoke, but otherwise in control. "but I think you are enjoying this a little too much." Bob squeezed at the unmistakable hardness eliciting a whimper from the younger one. The feeling of those hands on him was absolutely maddening. The more he thought about the way he was reacting to Bob the more he felt as if it were his own body betraying him.

"You can... you can just... go to hell, Bob," Bart panted. His words were more of a product of his own frustrated desires than a threat.

"Well then... shall I send you to heaven first?" Bob chuckled. His nimble fingers soon found their way to the button of Bart's pants fiddling with them, but never actually unbuttoned them. "By now we both know how you would react to my touch. There is no denying it. All it takes is for you to say no." Bob paused, his fingertips venturing perilously close to the zipper causing Bart's breath to hitch in his throat as they skimmed over the fabric. As much as his mind fought with him to stop Bob, he knew that the word 'no' would be very difficult to speak aloud any time soon.

"It matters not whether I conquer you now or later. The battle of wills has been consummated and I'll have you checkmated. The remaining motions are but an afterthought." Bob smirked. At this point Bart wasn't sure if Bob was flaunting his victory, drawing out the moment, or just toying with him.

* * *

><p><strong>N.A. - I am terribly deficient when it comes to understanding cell phones, so I'd like to thank my good friend, Kat, for helping me out a bit and for suggesting that Bart would have a MyPhone since that is a brand commonly mentioned in the show. Also, thanks to a friend that doesn't want credit, but that helped me to improve a few of the paragraphs with words that flowed more smoothly.<strong>

**I have been working on and off on the fanfic for the last several months, debating and being at total war with how to proceed. I began writing summaries to spot potential plot holes and then summaries of my summaries since the first summaries were too long. It has been a long and arduous process, but I have made it. I will work hard to do this story justice. Thanks for the reviews! Yes, I'll bring some of Bart's home life and his kitten into the story in the future. :)**


	17. The Big Bang

**Chapter 17: The Big Bang**

Bob was love and hate, sex and violence, black and white personified. He was a man of extremes and a bad-boy in every sense of the word. A madman neatly packaged as a gentleman. Bart's mind raced to catch up, struggling to consider all possible actions available to him, but it was proving to be difficult to even think as Bob's hand traveled back over the front of his pants. It was as if he were branded by the heat of Bob's hand burning into him through the fabric, the point of contact becoming the center of anything and everything that mattered. His face was red hot and flushed and after finally summoning the use of his vocal cords, Bart spoke.

"What do you really want, Bob? To fuck me or to kill me?" asked Bart, already regretting his impulsiveness as the words passed his lips. Bob's smug veneer of self control dropped for a split second at the bold inquiry, but he quickly reestablished his usual decorum.

"Why not both?" The ex-con smirked, knowing he had one-upped Bart in this battle of wills. "I am sure you would enjoy the former while I would enjoy the latter," he added, finally removing his hand from between Bart's legs after what felt like an eternity.

His eyes followed Bob's agonizingly slow hands as they disappeared beneath his shirt, prepared to assault the sensitive skin beneath once again. Heat emanated from those fingertips that slithered up his torso and across his chest. A small gasp escaped Bart's lips; his eyes wide and wild with disbelief, wondering if Bob really was just bluffing.

Bart's reaction seemed to have pleased him, if his devilish grin was any indication. Fingers leisurely and deliberate, sneaked along ribs and sent a chill down his spine that was electric. His mind was spinning from the high. He had never felt anything like this, especially with such little provocation since Bob had barely touched him yet. He was at war with himself, several times almost saying no, but the words caught in his throat every time, remaining stifled by his peculiar curiosity for danger; his main weakness.

Only when he felt a slight tremor from Bob's hands, did he opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of Bob's face for a lingering moment. Gone was the egotistical smirk that he expected to see. Gone was the disdain and almost loathing in his eyes and instead, there was something different. Something verging on hesitant uncertainty and perhaps even curiosity beneath narrowed eyes that still smouldered darkly with wanton desire. This wasn't just a game anymore.

Bob swallowed, Bart's eyes drawn momentarily to the motion of his throat and making him swallow as he was suddenly aware of how dry his own throat had become. It was one of those moments where it felt as if time had stopped and other such clichés and Bart knew that something was on the verge of happening as he felt his heart hammering in his chest as if trying to escape, the sound thrumming through his ears loudly.

If he were going to protest, now was as good of a time as any, but again, he remained silent, dumbstruck under the same spell that Bob had cast over him many years ago. He just wasn't strong enough to deny such sweet torment as this. Realizing that he'd held the eye contact for a bit longer than was comfortable, Bart closed his eyes, wondering if this action would seem like a surrender and almost not caring if it did.

"And still... you have yet to say no," the man whispered, before shifting his weight to one elbow and leaning down, lunging in for the kill. Bart exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as another wave of desire flowed through him. Bob's mouth on his neck was incredible and so painfully welcomed and he hated himself for it. He hated that Bob had reduced him to nothing more than a writhing bundle of nerve endings in one fell swoop.

His breath hitched in his throat as fingers lightly grazed across his right nipple and he heard a deep and barely audible, purring moan escape from Bob. A positively sinful sound that made him shudder and traveled straight through him, only serving to arouse him further. And the game was on once more, only this time, the rules had changed.

Bob muttered something almost absentmindedly prompting an inquisitive "Mmm?" from Bart. He had the feeling Bob had asked him something, but he couldn't decipher what was said.

Nearly the full weight of the man above pressed into him; the hardness felt along his thigh left no doubt in his mind the state of arousal the older man was in and the fact that he had caused this was rather staggering. Bob was apparently well endowed and incredibly hard all for him. This. This was the same Bob that struck terror in him years ago and even currently, to some extent. Such sweet bliss he found in that terror!

Every point of contact from Bob's mouth on his neck sparked a wave of current through him, through sensitive nerve endings and across the surface of his skin. Bart's hands betrayed him, reaching up to Bob's neck, fingers tangling delightfully into the riot of red, luxurious locks and provoking a satisfying gasp from the man above.

The warm, teasing mouth blazed a trail slowly towards his ear and the sensation and the heat of Bob's breath made him shiver. Hands once again resumed their mission of setting him ablaze beneath his shirt, rumpling the material as he pushed it up higher. The man's fingertips roamed haphazardly, mapping the landscape of flesh and occasionally dipping lower towards forbidden lands, but never quite reaching their destination; it was driving him mad and he couldn't control his impatient vocalizations. The exact reason for his impatience was more than a little frightening since he wasn't sure where this was leading to.

"Will I be hearing a no?" Bob asked softly, his mouth by Bart's ear. By this point, Bart was so far lost that it took him a moment to even register being spoken to.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found it very difficult to produce anything more than a whimper as teeth nipped at the skin just below his ear. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out as Bob sucked the bit of flesh to the point that it was painfully glorious. His fingers tangled deeper within that wild burgundy mane when Bob kissed the corner of his mouth first, then his lips, the contact feeling just as searing as it had been the first time.

He felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten his lip a little too hard, but this didn't dissuade Bob. If anything it encouraged him as he licked the blood away, savoring the taste with a satisfying shudder. It seemed the madman had a fetish for blood which wasn't really surprising.

Bob slowly began to kiss him, tongue gliding across Bart's lip, seeking silent permission. With Bart's gasp of surprise, the man took the opportunity, tongue dipping into the moist depths. Digging his fingers into Bob's arm, he wasn't sure whether he was trying to push him away or pull him in closer as Bob kissed him with rough passion.

Bob's hand against his chest trembled slightly as it traveled lower, slowly over his abdomen, his palm coming to rest against Bart's navel and provoking more sparks igniting beneath his flesh. Did Bob know just how incredibly maddening all of this felt? He couldn't be sure if it was the man's talent or just the result of his own lack of experience, but no matter what, he didn't want this feeling to end! To hell with the consequences!

The ex-con's tongue probed, exploring along his bottom row of teeth before delving further to greet his own tongue and with it, causing peculiar stirrings within him, his arousal coming to life with a twitch, urgently reminding him of its enduring presence. As Bob's tongue did wondrous things against his own, Bart absentmindedly shifted position, his thigh causing friction against the hardness of the man above him. He felt Bob's whole body stiffen slightly and for a moment, feared that he had made a mistake, but the moment passed and Bob continued kissing him deeply.

Daringly, Bart moved his leg again, taking delight in gaining a bit more leverage as Bob moaned into the kiss and pressed perilously closer against his body, bringing nearer the inferno of their shared heat.

The hand that had stalled over his naval made a slight movement and he hissed when Bob broke away from the kiss, still laying partially on top of him, fingers deftly maneuvering open the fly of Bart's jeans. Bart's fingers unwove from the man's hair to claw at the car seat, nails digging in as he felt his feverish length within the man's grasp, his eyes closed tightly.

"Dammit, Bob!" Bart cried weakly. He almost felt as if he would crawl out of his skin when those maddening fingers teased over the highly sensitive flesh.

"Shall I stop?" Bob asked with a knowing smirk.

"W-what… what d-do you think?" Bart panted. A low chuckle could be heard from Bob, whose fingers now began in a slow and deliberate rhythm.

"Oh god!" Bart cried out, muffling his cries by biting down onto his fist. He knew he wouldn't be able to withstand much of this, but it would be incredibly embarrassing to come after only a couple of seconds.

"So now we become more vocal finally, hmm?" Bob teased and he felt the grasp around his cock pick up the pace a bit, the added pressure and speed taking his breath away. When the motion halted suddenly after a minute, he couldn't control the embarrassing whine of disappointment he made.

Bob's eyes met Bart's pleading gaze and the man smirked as he moved lower. Bob wordlessly motioned for him to move up slightly since space was limited in the back of the Volkswagen. Bart readily obliged, cursing Bob once again for just how effortlessly persuasive he was. The anticipation was torture if Bob was about to do what he suspected. What constituted for virginity anyway, he wondered, especially when it involved another man?

He panted in ragged breaths as Bob freed his eager erection, the older man sitting up and back on his legs for a better view. He'd never known that someone's gaze could feel almost tangible upon flesh until that moment. It was a moment where time froze once again as Bob's eyes raked over him in silent reverence. The man's breathing suddenly becoming more rapid to match his own.

How could Bob view him with such a look of worship? He probably looked like a complete mess laying there on display with his shirt hiked up, his pants loose around his hips and a red tinge coloring his features from his face to his chest and his now aching to be touched arousal. It felt like all logic was fleeting in that moment. For all intents and purposes, he felt like the prey trapped in a spider's web and it was a terrifyingly wonderful feeling.

Bob leaned forward a bit, placing his hands on Bart's thighs and slowly sliding them higher, Bob's heavy lidded eyes searching his for a few seconds before proceeding. Bart bit his lip as those fingers returned to the job at hand, one hand enveloping him, the other remaining at rest on his thigh.

Sliding the loose skin back and forth a few times with a slow rhythm, Bob caught some of the clear, glistening fluid leaking down onto his fingers and brought it to his lips to taste. The sight made Bart's insides twinge with excitement as Bob sucked, bringing those now amply wet fingers back to his cock, slicking across his flesh with more ease.

Throbbing with need, his mind clouded with desire, Bart bucked into Bob's hand intermittently with the strokes that were now increasing in speed. Bob hummed a satisfying throaty sound as he leaned in closer, eyes gauging Bart's reactions to his touch. With his free hand, fingers splayed within the coarse, blond pubic hair.

It felt so damn incredible and so perfect! Those same sparks he'd felt earlier returned and washed over him like waves lapping onto hot, thirsty sand starting from the motion of Bob's gentle hand and moving throughout him. His toes curled tightly, his teeth biting down just a bit too hard on his bottom lip again as he felt the first pangs of what would be the tsunami to come.

He knew he was a goner the moment Bob leaned forward, holding the hardened flesh steady as he licked a stripe all the way from base to end. The heat from his mouth and the tongue that lingered along the frenulum, flicking slightly along the underside, was all he could take! He cried out uncontrollably as the first shock wave of pleasure consumed him, gushing forward and spilling onto his belly thanks to Bob's steady hand. Bob gave him several light strokes as he road out the remaining cataclysm, several thick stripes of his release now coating his abdomen.

His head rolled back, hitting the door of the car loudly, but he barely took notice he was so utterly spent. His mind clouded in the haze of afterglow and his heart raced as if he'd ran a 10K. He felt Bob leaning over him and he jolted with surprise as he felt the palmae hair tickling his chest, the man leaning close to give his abdomen a lick. He lifted his head to watch as the man licked him clean as if it were icing on a cake and it had to be the single most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

He swallowed, eyes wide with excitement, but too far past the state of no return to react. The corners of the man's lips upturned slightly in his usual smirk that seemed almost default by now as he licked the last remaining traces of seed from his belly and Bart couldn't think of anything else to do but to laugh weakly and lay his head back down against the car seat with a loud _plonk_.

Bob shifted slightly off of him, one elbow braced onto the seat beside Bart, the other hand coming to rest flat against Bart's chest where his heart beat rapidly.

"Bart... I'm not sure what... is happening, but... this is not what I had planned," Bob huffed, his voice a mixture of heady lust and uncertainty. "It... wasn't meant to... go this far... but…" Bob lifted his gaze to meet Bart's, his eyes heavy lidded with a faint tinge of rouge coloring his face. "I find myself unable to resist you… always," he spoke softly. "In more ways than one."

Bob had started off completely smug and in control, but now he actually seemed unhinged if the notable wavering in his voice was any indication. Bart could hear his heartbeat drumming loudly in his ears in a hypnotizing beat that was so clamorous that he almost suspected that Bob could hear it too. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath, unable to believe what he was hearing, the words numbing him. When he looked back to Bob, the man's eyes were tightly closed with what seemed to be a pained expression.

"But I must restrain... whatever this is," Bob lamented. "These damn emotions will be the end of me... or you."

"Bob… I… I thought you were just trying to… to humiliate me," said Bart, not daring to move just yet. Bob's hand remained on his chest, fingers trembling.

"I… I thought I was too." Bob answered quietly.

_BANG_

An earsplitting sound was heard that was undeniably a gunshot. Bob quickly ducked down, covering Bart with his own body again, this time for a completely different reason. Bart's eyes widened with fear, confusion and so many emotions that he couldn't even entertain at the moment because another sharp crack of a second gunshot resonated with an almost deafening force. Bob tucked himself securely around Bart, effectively turning himself into a human shield.

"Bob! What… what is happening?"

"Stay down, Bart!" yelled Bob as he moved quickly, diving into the driver's seat.

"What the hell? Th-there is a hole in the windshield!" Bart's voice was panic stricken as he spotted the hole with cracks emanating from it in the back, side window, just above where his feet were.

"And I suggest that you lie back down unless you want a hole in your head!" Bob yelled, starting the car as quickly as he could and squalling tires as another gunshot sounded. Three gunshots! They had been shot at three times by someone that obviously wanted either of them, or maybe both of them dead! It was all happening too fast!

"Bob, are you-"

"I'm fine! I'm… fine." Bob's voice was just as full of panic as his own. Someone was trying to kill him and there was no doubt in his mind that it was the same person that had tried to kill Milhouse. Only after the car had sped away some distance, did Bart finally sit up and take notice of the second hole in the window, this time through the front passenger's side. His heart ached painfully as he realised just how close he had come to dying today, just how close _Bob_ had come as well. Would he really be sad if Bob were to die?

Taking a quick stock of himself, he sat up and felt a bit embarrassed that he was still in the state of partial undress that Bob had left him in so he promptly readjusted his clothing, zipping his pants and straightening his shirt. Once he took a moment to himself, taking a few deep breaths, he found that it did little to calm his mind, but it did stabilize his breathing somewhat.

He leaned in close, sitting up behind Bob's seat and taking look at the man through the overhead mirror. Bob's eyes were wild and erratic as he stared at the street ahead, eyes occasionally darting to the side mirror to see the street behind him. Bart had felt such an incredible sense of adrenaline, danger and romantic conquest all in one night that he almost felt drunk off of it. It was all incredibly exciting in a way that it shouldn't be. Even though he was terrified for his life, he somehow felt more alive in that instance than ever.

He daringly brought a hand to Bob's shoulder, gauging the man's surprised reaction through the mirror, Bob's eyes quickly flitting down to his hand for a second before returning to the street ahead again. There were no cars pursuing them so perhaps they were in the clear for now.

He didn't know why he felt the need to touch Bob, but after all that had happened, his mind wasn't really working at full capacity. His hand moved over Bob's shoulder and he heard the the man let out a barely audible groan. Interesting. He would do anything to distract himself from the danger they had just been in, as exciting as it was, and if a gentle human touch would provide that, then so be it.

Moving his hands a little more assuredly along Bob's shoulder, Bart leaned his head against the back of Bob's headrest, breathing in the familiar scent of the man and exhaling as his breathing finally began to slow to a more normal rate. Perhaps today had been a little too eventful, but there was no doubt in the excitement he felt at the uncertainty of what had transpired in the moments before gunshots rang out and his world had been forever changed by Bob.

They had crossed a dangerous line that could never be uncrossed. Things would never be the same between them and Bart felt an almost giddy feeling like that of a lovesick teen, which he was. A part of him felt like he had a dark and masochistic fetish for the fear that Bob induced.

Bob let out another muffled moan that sounded like a mixture of pain and enjoyment as Bart's fingers traveled gently along his shoulder and collarbone. With his left hand, he gave in to the urge to touch one of the cottony locks of hair, delighting in its soft yet springy texture and in the fact that he had such access to it now that Bob was driving and not likely to object. He'd have to find more opportunities like this to touch Bob's hair in the future.

It was only when he noticed something slick and wet on his fingers that he paused. He pulled his hand away and noticed the red painting his fingertips, a single drop rolling down his arm. Bob's blood.

"Bob. You're bleeding," said Bart, stunned as he once again found himself going into a state of panic. It was in that instant that he knew if Bob were to die, it would pain him greatly. He was already feeling the twinge of dread beginning; dread that he was about to lose the person that he was slowly beginning to see in a new light.

"I was hoping that you wouldn't find out yet." Bob winced.

"Why?"

"You've had enough…mmph…" Bob winced in pain again, "...excitement for one night... and it's all my fault." Bart was stunned for a moment. Hearing that from Bob was unexpected.

"Bob…" Bart hesitated, "Are you… going to be okay?"

"Why? Are you worried?" Bob countered.

"What? N-no…" Bart quickly asserted, "well… maybe." It was somewhat fascinating, seeing the blood dry quickly on his fingers. Fascinating if not for the implications it held; it almost made him sick.

"Red. Such a passionate color, is it not?" Bob's voice broke his silent contemplation. It was so absurd! The man was bleeding and here he was speaking poetically!

"Does this mean you're gonna die?" The panic in the boy's voice unable to be hidden. Bob caught his eyes once again, staring at him in the mirror.

"Tell me Bart, would it pain you terribly if I did?" asked Bob. Bart was stunned. That very thought had crossed his mind mere moments ago, yet hearing it echoed aloud by Bob was proving to be difficult.

"Well… I um..." Bart faltered.

"I think I'll be fine, Bart. Thank you for your sincere concern." Bob smirked. Bart leaned back against the back seat, staring at the now dried blood on his hands. The life force of the man that had attempted to shed his own blood plenty of times before. It was all so bizarre.

"I'm going to… stop by the hospital before dropping you off at home. Is that okay?" Bob asked, breaking Bart out of his thoughts once again.

"Hmm? Oh sure. Whatever you have to do, man." Bart replied casually. Much more casually than he felt on the inside after all that had happened today. It was too much for his mind to process. He wanted to be helpful in the situation, but he didn't know what else to do other than sit back and wait it all out.

"Um… Bart?" Bob spoke suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"I hate to ask such a thing of you but… do you think you could… apply some pressure to the wound? I'm feeling a bit light headed, but that might give me the edge I need to make it to the hospital."

"Oh, right! Pressure." Bart leaned forward in his seat again and reached around Bob, placing his hand over the wound and hesitating for a second, thinking about how best to proceed. It was a task easier said than done and it would probably hurt a lot for Bob.

"Just do it, Bart. If you want, you can use my gloves over there if you're squeamish."

"Squeamish?" Bart laughed at the absurd notion, "C'mon, I already have your blood on my hands." Bart finally pressed onto the wound, Bob gasping at the contact. Bart tried to keep his hand as motionless as possible, but it seemed an effort in futility considering that fate had decided to give them the most pothole ridden street in all of Springfield.

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><p><strong>A.N. - Well, here it is finally! I'd like to thank my few close friends (Kat, and a few others that I'm not sure would want to be named, but they know who they are) as well as reviewers that encouraged me to continue this. That's what really got me back into writing. I never intend to give up on this story, I was just working through some personal issues that sucked all of the creativity out of me, but in the back of my mind, this story was a constant presence as I formulated possible ways for it to go until all of the pieces slowly began to fall into place.<strong>

**As for the citrusy feel of this chapter, I had intended to draw out the tension a bit longer and save some of the slashyness until a later chapter, but somehow it sort of fit here and I went with it. Thanks for reading!**

**To Be Continued**


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